


You Know I'd Rather Walk Alone

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Age Difference, M/M, figure skating AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-23
Updated: 2014-06-23
Packaged: 2018-02-05 22:13:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 29,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1834078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jared is a young figure skater with lots of talent and a lousy technique. Jensen Ackles, a well-known figure skater who gave up his career years ago, is hired to coach Jared and fix his problem. They are as different as different gets -- but through all the hate, struggles and, of course, skating, there is always something that keeps them both interested.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [here](http://viviansface.livejournal.com/48218.html) (check for full author's note). Art masterpost [here.](http://banbury.livejournal.com/169069.html)
> 
> I use a few figure skating terms -- I feel they are mostly self explanatory, but I mention twizzles a few times -- [HERE](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oeCM2fQGf5k) is a video that shows you what it looks like, in case you're interested. :)
> 
> Lastly, I apologize for the amount of sweetness and cheesiness in this fic. In January, I told myself I would write romance/rom coms only this year, so here we are. It's not the best, but I hope it's fun anyway. :)

Jared takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. He bows his head.

He counts to five, but the music doesn’t start up. He has miscounted.

It turns his mind upside down and he tries counting to five again, but only gets to three when he hears the first tunes of Shostakovich’s _The Bolt_.

As he moves to the right, he opens his eyes, moving his torso and hands just as he had rehearsed it. He knows his steps by heart, and it allows him to think. 

_You’ve done good_ , he tells himself, _with the short program last night_. It’s Jim’s voice that tells him so, really, his coach’s words always carrying more value, always meaning more than his own. You’ve done good, you only need to do this decently to leave the rink with your head up.

He’s concentrated, his body tense and relaxed at the same time. Here he comes, here he goes; he’s done this countless times, daring to call it a perfect jump.

He can do a triple Axel.

He feels it weigh down on him as he takes off the edge of his skate, stepping up to the jump with his right leg. Jared suddenly feels the presence of his skates, trapping his ankles, pulling him down. He grits his teeth, feeling his hair getting loose from his ponytail, slapping him in the face as he spins.

He knows he’s fucked before he lands. 

And the landing is hard. He falls on his side, the ice hitting his butt with sudden force. His heart stops beating the second his palms rest flat against the cold rink. He pushes himself up, quickly gaining speed.

Jared’s mind is blank. He hears a lady woo at him cheerfully when he successfully picks up the pace, but it’s distant and doesn’t mean much to him. Honestly, he is surprised to realize that his feet still keep on doing the job for him. He’s not thinking of the steps anymore, he no longer hears the music.

He questions himself – why am I here, what am I doing? -- and he has no answer.

Jared manages to shake his confusion and desperation off as he nears another jump. He does good with triple Lutz, but he stumbles at triple toe loop and almost ends up on the ice again. 

His heart still hasn’t started up.

Jared considers giving up. For a split second, as he skates across the rink, delivering footwork that is at least a bit decent, all he wants to do is run off the rink. Avoid Jim on his way out and just disappear – leave this all behind. He feels like a failure.

But then he thinks – hell, there’s his mother, watching him. There’s Danneel, busy with the competition herself, yet seated in the audience and cheering him on. Perhaps it was her who screamed encouragement at him. How could he give up in the middle, in front of their very eyes? How could he ever do that?

He curls his fingers into fists, also only for a second, and tries to ignore the sound of his skates scratching against the ice, destroying it, being its very own kind of music, closer to Jared’s heart than Shostakovich. 

He tries, he really does, but he executes his next triple Axel as double Axel, and the only thing he can comfort himself with is that it was, indeed, perfect. Not worth much, though, but delivered without hesitation. That is the only thing to be happy about today.

He finishes his skate with one more triple Lutz and properly executed spins, and with a feeling that he fucked up big time.

Jared’s heart starts beating just when the music stops and he is left alone on the rink, the audience cheering, and his side hurting. 

He manages to bow down a few times, once again just for his mother’s and Danneel’s sake (no real fans here, he thinks, he is way too young and inexperienced for that).

He buries his face in his hands as he skates to Jim, trying to shut out the world.

Jim is not one for gestures, but he hugs Jared the moment he steps off the rink. It’s official – he fucked up.

“Now, boy,” Jim says and pats Jared’s back when he sees his expression. “You skated through and didn’t break any bones. There have been boys who did much worse. I’m proud of you.”

Jared grins at that, even though it’s ninety percent fake. “Thanks, Jim.”

It’s so stupid, but as he fixes his hair and puts on a hoodie, covering his dark blue shirt with silver stars on its left shoulder, he grows hopeful.

Perhaps it wasn’t so bad. Perhaps he would get some point for the spins, and for the jumps he executed. 

It’s another punch in the face when he sees just how many points he got. He got a few above one hundred, and he feels like _shit_ the second he sees it. And he knows those numbers just got burnt into his brain, and he’s never getting rid of them.

He’s glad Jim doesn’t say anything, only purses his lips and puts his arm around Jared’s shoulders as if trying to protect him.

Jared almost tears up, almost. He feels his face scrunch up and heat rush up his neck, but he holds it back, tells those tears, _wait for the hotel room, will ya_ , and they listen, miraculously, they do. 

This is not what they trained nine months for, Jared knows. 

That’s why it is so hard to even look at Jim, look him in the eyes. It is almost a greater pain than the one pulsating in his side and drawing his attention. 

“I’m sorry, Jim,” he mumbles when another skater steps on the rink and another piece of music starts playing, echoing through the whole stadium. 

Jim gets up from the bench where they had been waiting for the results, and frowns. “Oh, shut up. What, you think you’re the first one to ever get a score like this?”

Jared looks up at him, speechless.

“Well, there are folks who got even worse. So tell your sorry ass not to be sorry. In my eyes, you’ve done great.”

“I haven’t, though,” Jared argues quietly, and only hears Jim sigh. He gets up as well, then. “Whatever, Jim. At least it wasn’t the Olympics or something. That would have been worse.” Although he knows that the US Nationals are a pretty big deal as well. And he fucked up. 

“Jared,” Jim sighs again, “Just don’t let it bring you down. You’ll be fine. We both know that you’re a great skater. You’ve got it in you. We both know that.”

Jared nods.

The truth, though, is that he is not so sure.

“You should be asleep,” Jared says when he sees Danneel standing in front of his hotel room with a bottle of booze in her left hand, “definitely not getting drunk.”

“Ugh, stop lecturing me,” she rolls her eyes and sneaks past him and into his room. He does not object – simply closes the door and with a shrug follows her back to the tiny living room. “You’re worse than Kim sometimes.”

“I’m worse than _Jim_ , sometimes,” he agrees. 

Kim and Jim are probably somewhere in coach-land right now, probably discussing them, maybe about to check up on them, for various reasons. Jared knows Kim is worse than Jim, though – much stricter. She would probably throw a fit if she knew Danneel was just sitting down on the sofa and preparing herself for a night with Jack Daniels.

“So,” Danneel starts when they’re both past the point of two shots. The glasses are left empty on the table for now, and the TV is on, as some sort of background music. “What happened today?”

Jared drops his gaze. He knew it would come up, because if anything, they don’t step around each other on tiptoes, trying to avoid emotions and talking about it.

They met when they were both fourteen. Jim coached them both back then and Danneel was always leaving just as Jared arrived for a training session. Eventually, they would try figure skating together, as they became friends and would always opt for more time spent together, but it never worked out. 

So they went their separate ways, at least on the ice, each working on their own career.

And today, Jared has to admit that Danneel jumps a better triple Axel than he does, which is something, since she is the only lady who does it these days.

Then again, _everyone_ jumped a better triple Axel tonight.

“Would you leave it alone if I told you I didn’t want to talk about it?” he tries, running his fingers through his hair.

“Nope,” she says. He had expected that answer.

He sprawls across the couch as much as he can with her feet propped up in his lap, and his side hurts. Another reminder, great. He should probably put ice on it, although just thinking of ice makes him cringe.

“Well,” he mumbles, “I fucked up, that’s what happened.”

“Yeah, and who doesn’t fuck up? That’s not what I’m asking. I’m asking, what happened after that? You looked like someone beat you with a stick.”

“Kinda felt like it.”

“Are you seriously letting this bring you down?” she nudges him in the side – the hurt one, fucking _ow_ \-- with her foot. 

“You sound just like Jim,” Jared says, annoyed. “Yes, of course I am letting it bring me down. It’s my first Nationals and I fuck up. It feels like I’m fifteen and barely handling a triple Lutz.”

“Oh God, you’re horrible,” she tells him and sits down on the floor instead, pouring herself another shot. Pouring him another shot as well. “Did you think you’d suddenly be the best figure skater the world has ever seen?”

“Danni,” he says, almost as if warning her, telling her to back off. She should know better – no man likes it when someone hurts his ego. Jared’s ego has been hurt splendidly tonight, and Danneel is not making it better.

“What?” she asks, though, ignoring him. “You seriously cannot mean this. You did good.”

“I didn’t,” he argues, finally saying it out loud and not just in his messy thoughts. He grabs the glass and pours the liquid down his throat, letting it sting. He can’t wait for it to numb his lips and shut out the pain in his side. “I think – I think I should have stick with hockey.”

Danneel coughs, surprised, a few drops of Jack Daniels rolling down her perfectly shaped chin. “What?”

“I mean, I wanted to do that, back when I was twelve or something. And I was serious about it. I don’t really know why – what made me change my mind – maybe it was a mistake.”

“Padalecki, you gotta be fucking kidding me,” she spits out. “You’re one of the best young skaters I know! I mean, I don’t personally know that many, but – “

“Maybe I lack motivation. Maybe it’s just not for me. Maybe I should give it up. Let Jim find a talent, instead of me. I don’t think it will get better – “

She scoffs and it cuts him off. “As I said, you are talented. And we both know it. You fucked up because you were nervous.”

Jared squints, on his way to believing her. God, he really wants to believe her. Maybe he does lack motivation, maybe she is a liar and he is not one of the best – he isn’t – but he loves what he’s doing. True, maybe he could have made a decent amount of money out of a successful hockey career, but he knows hockey is nothing like figure skating. It’s nothing like listening to music, and moving to it, and jumping, and feeling the adrenalin reach out to him, taking him hostage for whole four minutes. He loves that.

Despite that, he feels like a failure – like he’s not good enough. And it seems that tonight, Danneel’s comfort is not going to make any difference.

“It’s easy for you to say, when you cut triple Axels like it’s a freaking curtsey.”

“Oh no, you did not,” she almost growls, the alcohol making her cheeks red. 

She really should be asleep by now, resting before her short program tomorrow. It’s not her first year, she has a reputation to hold, they all know her as a great skater. Jared feels small under her glare.

“You think I triple Axeled out of my mother’s vagina?” she comments sarcastically, making poor twenty-two years old Jared blush furiously. “No. I had to work for it. And working for it didn’t mean wallowing in self pity every time I fucked up. And boy, did I fuck up.”

He wants to tell her to stop. They don’t fight and it doesn’t sound right – her raising her voice at him and defending -- having all the rights to do so – what she had fought for. He knows she hasn’t had it easy – small, petite Danneel, who only started skating at twelve. And here she is, ten years later, and she is a star, and rightfully proud of it. And, Jared sometimes forgets, women don’t like being teased either.

“Don’t,” Jared sighs, squeezing his empty glass in his fingers, “I didn’t mean it. You know it.”

“But didn’t you?” she asks teasingly, and they both know he did mean it.

He doesn’t feel like saying sorry tonight, though. 

“You should go, Danni. Big day tomorrow.”

“Right,” she says as she stands up, putting her glass back on the table. It clinks against it loudly, the sound piercing Jared’s ears. “If you feel like being a rational human being, you’re invited to join Kim tomorrow and watch me dance around the rink like a mother effing queen.”

Yeah, she does not like being teased.

Jared guesses he should be glad they didn’t end the night with a proper fight with not-talking as a result. She’s bitter, but she’ll come around.

Jared, however, is left in his room with half the bottle of Jack Daniels. And he plans on finishing it.

Danneel, of course, is flipping excellent the next day, but Jared isn’t watching.

He called her in the morning, apologized for last night and excused himself, saying he felt like he was coming down with something.

That little something could – should, maybe – be considered a teeny obsession.

Thanks to youtube, or not so much, he has watched the video of his last night’s skate over twenty times now. It’s harsh to watch, because he’s desperately trying to figure out what went wrong and when his legs decided not to cooperate. 

He’s getting nowhere, and the worst thing about it is the lady that was commenting. Jared knows her – she’s a sweet lady, just slightly over fifty, and has been commenting figure skating events for decades. And it’s her words that hurt him – because he knows them to be true, and he knows them to make him look way more fragile than he would like.

“Jared Padalecki is the least experienced of all our skaters today,” she says, and goes on with encouraging words, but those never stick.

The least experienced means exactly what Danneel brought up – that he needs to work for it, just like she did, and success will come, and he won’t fuck up again.

And he might still be a bit hangover, but he feels like all that is possible, and giving up does not sound all that appealing to him anymore.


	2. Chapter 1

Jared feels like a _whole new person_ when he gets home from Italy. A whole new freaking person, free and tanned (more than would be nice) and with his sunglasses holding up his way too long hair.

This, however, lasts for about twenty-four hours, and that is mostly thanks to the fact he never turned on his phone after landing in Detroit. 

He sleeps for a day, eats junk food, watches old reruns of Murphy Brown and chills the fuck out.

Not once does he think of figure skating and of the fact that it is summer already and, of course, the best time to start training for the upcoming season. He pushes that out of his mind completely, successfully at that, and it doesn’t bother him.

But then he makes the mistake of turning his phone on and there are three missed calls – two from Jim and one from Danneel. 

Jared decides to call Danneel first, since she is the less painful option. 

It’s her who’s got her phone off now, though, and he reaches her voice mail. He leaves a random, cheerful message about being back and wanting to meet up, and ‘will she finally skate to Beyoncé’s music this year, thank you’, and hangs up. 

He really, _really_ , doesn’t want to call Jim. He hasn’t been in touch with him the whole time he was abroad, which was almost a month, and he both missed him and didn’t miss him. It’s complicated, he knows, and he fears their next conversation.

However, knowing that it will happen at some point, he’d rather get it over with. He’s not exactly sure what he’s gonna say – literally undecided between, ‘when’s our first meeting, coach’ and ‘Jim, I’m not exactly feeling it this year’. Those are his two extreme options, and he doesn’t know. He’s dialing Jim’s number and pressing the phone against his ear, and he simply doesn’t know.

And then Jim picks up and starts talking before Jared has the chance to say anything at all, even if only a simple ‘hi’. 

“Where have you been, boy? I thought you were supposed to come back like a week ago!”

Jared almost feels like a child. He’s not close with his parents, not anymore – they grew strangely apart throughout the years, Jared growing close with Jim instead of his father. He thinks, sometimes, that his parents regret signing him up for those first figure skating lessons – they made them lose a son, after all. Kind of. 

“Sorry,” Jared apologizes with a little heart beating frantically in his chest. Being sprawled across his bed and trying to look and feel casual is not helping. “It was too much fun and I just couldn’t let go.”

“Well, now that you’re here,” Jim says then, cutting Jared off, “I’ve got something to tell you. Now listen.”

“I am, obviously,” Jared laughs.

“I’ve got us an appointment with Jensen Ackles.”

Jared sits up in his bed, a disoriented, surprised look on his face.

Jared’s brain decides to take a little break here – one that takes approximately a nanosecond or two, but will probably take up more than one sentence when put into words.

Of course, he knows who Jensen Ackles is, and he knows why he is so surprised to hear the name from Jim’s mouth, especially connected to a message like that.

_An appointment with Jensen Ackles._

Jared, stupidly, almost asks why would they need a freaking appointment with Jensen Ackles.

But then, his knowledge stops him.

Jensen Ackles doesn’t do meetings like this.

He used to be big in the figure skating world. He’s fourteen years older than Jared, and so Jared remembers watching him skate and compete, and he vaguely remembers all the drama that was tied to it.

Jensen began his figure skating career with ice dance. He danced with a blonde girl, Jared can’t really recall her name – Alena or Alona or something like that – but then the drama started. The woman died in a horrible car accident, leaving Jensen partner-less. Jared remembers that Jensen skated for two or three more years as a skater, not as a dancer, and although he was _good_ , Jared remembers admiring his technique, he quit. Without explanation, really. 

That was more than five years ago, what the hell, and no one’s heard of him since then. It’s rumored that he has a winery somewhere, and it is well known that he does not want to have anything to do with the whole figure skating business.

That’s why it is a surprise to Jared, and he doesn’t understand how Jim could have possibly made this happen.

“Okay, what?” he stutters when his brain starts functioning again.

“I know,” Jim exclaims and sighs deeply right into Jared’s ear, the phone making it louder than necessary. “It’s tomorrow.”

“Jim…” Jared trails off, not quite sure how to continue. All the things he meant to say come rushing back to him, and he doesn’t do a very good job of fighting them away. 

The fact that he would be able to meet Jensen Ackles is quite astounding, if he is to be perfectly honest with himself.

But… _but._

But Jared remembers the US Nationals far too well. And he remembers promising himself that he wouldn’t give up, because giving up is for cowards – which Jared isn’t.

That’s why his shame is twice as big as it would normally be.

It’s not that he wants to quit, not really – he, after all, is serious about skating, and he wants to keep going, wants to be true to that promise. But on the other hand, he doesn’t feel like stepping onto the ice. He has been avoiding it, although not able to pinpoint why exactly. It’s almost like he’s afraid of it, afraid of another failure, and maybe that is why he had stayed in Italy for that extra week. 

“What now,” Jim says and Jared can literally see the eyeroll. “Your ass too tanned to get here tomorrow?”

“No,” Jared breathes out, giving up. He rubs his eyes tiredly and tries to tell himself that he’s being silly. 

“Good, because I ain’t going through rescheduling for you. You’ll be here at nine in the morning, okay?”

“What is this all about?” Jared asks instead of assuring Jim he will be on time. “Why would you even try to see Ackles?”

“Are you seriously asking me this?”

“I am,” Jared nods to himself.

“Sometimes I think you don’t even have a brain. Or is logic too scary a thing for you?” Jim teases him, and then says, “It’s his technique I’m after.”

“Listen,” Jared tries and rubs his face tiredly, still sitting up in his bed awkwardly, feeling his left leg going numb. “I don’t need – “

“Now, I know you want to believe that, but I’m old, and modern figure skating is not twenty-years-ago figure skating. And I’m your coach, so you’ll listen to _me_ , and you’ll trust me on this. And you’ll be here tomorrow at nine.”

Jared knows he could argue with that – wouldn’t probably get anywhere, but he definitely could argue – but he doesn’t know what to say in his defense. He feels like a really dumb kid, which he probably is, and so he tells himself, once again, that this will be easier to handle face to face. And maybe it wouldn’t hurt to meet Ackles, after all.

“Okay, Jim,” Jared finally utters.

Jim asks him about Italy, then, and they spend a few minutes chatting about that and about how short summer usually is – especially when they only get half of it off --, and then they hang up.

Jared considers a nap – really wanting to enjoy his day off, when he has literally nothing to do – but after lying in his bed for about twenty minutes, still wide awake, he gives up.

He ends up opening his laptop, going to Youtube and searching all and any Jensen Ackles videos he can find.

To be honest, Jared is not all that surprised to find out that Jensen danced to Shostakovich’s Bolt, and won the World Championships with it. He is not surprised _at all_.

He ends up examining Ackles’ face as he accepts the medal, and he wonders what it must be like to feel it hanging around your neck, golden and heavy and real, physical, tangible. He sees Ackles smile, but somehow, he doubts his expression, but can’t figure out why that is.

He wonders what Ackles is like now – as if he was supposed to have a tattoo on his forehead, saying, ‘I gave up figure skating years ago and live in the mountains with wild goats’ or something equally stupid. Or as if his hair has turned to white by now, which is nonsense as well. Jared tries looking him up on Facebook – finding nothing but a fanpage that has been dead since 2009 – and googles him, but that doesn’t help either. There are no recent pictures, and Jared can’t even tell why he is so intrigued all of a sudden.

Before he can figure it out, his phone rings. It’s Danneel, and now, after having gone through the conversation with Jim, he is almost ecstatic to talk to her.

He picks up with, “Hello, queen,” surprised to find himself in such good spirits.

They end up going out for the night, celebrating their reunion with way too much alcohol and music that is way too loud.

That’s why Jared wakes up with a headache – well, he calls it a headache although he knows it is really him being hangover – the next day. 

He stumbles out of bed with trouble, but as he brushes his teeth (desperately trying to get the taste of booze out of his mouth), he decides it’s good it was at least _his_ bed he had to stumble out of. It could have been worse.

He makes it out of his considerably tiny apartment at eight forty, which leaves him precisely twenty minutes to get to Jim’s house.

Needless to say, he’s late. 

Only five minutes, maybe ten, but he is and Jim comments on it the second he opens the door. It almost overshadows the fact he’s hugging Jared while he’s saying that.

“You’ll never learn to come on time,” he says then, but rests his palm on Jared’s shoulder.

Sentimentally, Jared looks Jim up and down and decides there is more gray hair in his beard than there used to be. His Jim is getting old.

“You know me,” Jared agrees. “And you also know Detroit traffic.”

“Ackles is no better than you, though,” Jim adds after a few moments and gestures towards his living room, heading there. Jared follows him. “He’s not here yet.”

“Hm, big star mannerism, you think?” Jared speculates as he enters the living room after Jim and sits down on the large sofa. He knows this house better than the back of his hand, to be honest – he lived here once, for three weeks or so, before he got the apartment he lives in now. 

“Nah, I don’t think so,” Jim grimaces and shakes his head. “Want something to drink?”

“Ugh, coffee, _please_ ,” Jared groans as he leans back. He didn’t manage to get any before leaving his apartment and it felt too irresponsible to stop at Starbucks when he was already running late.

Jim disappears in the kitchen, which is right next to the living room and Jared can hear him fumble with cups and he can hear the water rumble against the bottom of the kettle. He breathes out and relaxes, only now realizing he’s been tense ever since entering the house.

His childish whining from last night, which thankfully went on only in his head, seems even more ridiculous now. He did want to talk about this with Jim – talk about his _fears_ or whatever you might call it, but when he’s here, it doesn’t feel all that urgent. The worrying doesn’t seem all that real. Seeing Jim and receiving a gently pat on the shoulder seems to have been a kick in the ass, because suddenly, Jared throws the idea of giving up away again. His heart does start up a bit after that, be he calms down rather quickly.

Jared simply decides to accept that skating will be a bit troublesome at first; and he decides it’s worth it.

Another sigh fights its way out of Jared’s lungs and he checks his watch. It’s twenty-two minutes past nine now, and he’s not so sure if he’s annoyed or grateful for someone being even worse with timing than he is.

Just as the thought crosses Jared’s mind, the bell rings and the sound echoes through the house.

“Can you get it?” Jim shouts from the kitchen – as if he was too busy making coffee to get the door in his own house.

Jared rolls his eyes, but shouts back, “Sure!” and gets up from the sofa.

He is surprised to find his heart picking up a quicker pace as he crosses the house back to the door. Perhaps it’s the fanboy in him, but mostly, he thinks it stupid and immature. His palms get sweaty, even, as he reaches for the doorknob and twists it to welcome the host.

Jensen Ackles is…

Jensen Ackles is.

Because Jared fails to find any adjectives that could possibly describe the man in front of him, and his brain does the funny thing again – the thing where it shut outs the world and thinks too many things at the same time.

Jensen Ackles has changed over the years, or, well, since he was a part of the figure skating world.

He’s grown a stubble, which is _ridiculous_ and also ridiculously _hot_ , and Jared is terrified to even think something like that, but there he is. For some reason, he’s surprised that Jensen is shorter than him, but holy mother of everything. He is, above all, hot. A real man, Jared would think, embarrassed. His beige blazer cut for him, perfectly describing his body, and his pretentious Ray Ban sunglasses are the worst and yet the most charming thing Jared has ever seen.

“Sorry I’m late,” Jensen Ackles says and kicks Jared back into normal mode. Well. His voice should not be hot, but it is. What a surprise.

Jared can’t believe he’s been staring at one of his idols who is now well into his thirties. What the hell is going on. 

Jared is worried he might still be drunk.

Jared stupidly steps away to let Jensen in, and is taken aback when he sees Jensen grin at him. It’s too late when he realizes he should have probably said something, so he just closes the door, wondering if Jensen has ever seen him skate and therefore knows his face or if Jared could pretend to be Jim’s new awkward doorman.

Jim, the savior, appears in the doorway just as Jared turns around to face Jensen and his damned face again.

“The traffic is terrible today,” Jensen comments and looks at Jim expectantly, as if waiting to find out if the coach was as dumb as the skater.

The coach isn’t as dumb as his skater, obviously, considering he’s not staring like Jared (yes, still).

“Jared told me. You must be coming from the same side of the city, I suppose.” He looks from Jensen to Jared and Jared’s stomach does a weird thing, vaguely resembling a cartwheel. Is Jim playing a matchmaker now or what?

“Oh, really,” Jensen comments dryly, obviously not interested in small talk. Still, he turns to Jared and eyes him. “Where do you live?”

And if things were normal, Jared would find it peculiar that Jensen Ackles is asking for information instead of giving any himself. But things are not normal.

Jared runs his fingers through his hair, as he always does when he’s nervous, and he motions to the living room. “Jim was just making coffee,” he acclaims, completely ignoring Jensen’s question. “Would you like some, before we start… this meeting?”

Jensen grins again, snorts, almost, and shrugs. “’lright. Lead the way.”

Thankfully, Jim takes this one and turns on his heels to go back to the living room. He, however, still shoots a weirded out glance in Jared’s direction and Jared is scared he might be blushing at that.

As they head to the living room as a tail, Jared closing it up, he even catches himself staring down at Jensen’s ass.

_Get it together, Padalecki_ , he tells himself after that.

He looks up, then, and tries to get ready for the business talk, despite still not knowing what this whole meeting is about.

He really did not expect Jensen Ackles to be this weirdly attractive in person, and that’s the worst thing about it. This shall be interesting, then. 

They end up in the living room, of course, as Jim’s office is way too small to handle all three of them. Jared quickly steals the armchair for himself, even though he knows he will sink deep into it and look like an idiot (he does). Jim settles down on the couch and Jensen sits down right next to him.

Jim has already prepared three cups of coffee for all three of them, but Jared knows he will never end up reaching out to get his, even though he wants coffee _a lot_.

“So…” Jensen trails off, letting them know he would like to get this meeting going because his time is obviously precious.

“Jared doesn’t know what we discussed,” Jim says and points vaguely in Jared’s direction. “He just got back from Italy.”

Jensen glances at Jared and looks like he wants to ask about it, but decides against it – probably still remembers Jared’s inability to answer easy questions.

“Am _I_ supposed to tell him?” Jensen grins, but not in the good way – Jared, since he is the one observing the situation and not getting involved in the conversation, sees it’s the annoyed way. The ‘please let’s get it over with, why can’t no one act like they are responsible human beings, I don’t like being here and it is all very ironic’ way. Jared feels offended.

Jim sighs.

And Jared can only imagine the phone call Jim and Jensen Ackles shared and how much persuading must have gone into it. Ackles is so obviously not happy to be here.

“Okay, then,” Jim starts and clasps his hands together when he sees Jensen is not about to say anything. None of them have touched the coffee yet, but Jared still really wants to. “I called Mr. Ackles and arranged a meeting with him because I want him to be your coach, making me his assistant. Simply, someone who’s there to help from time to time.” Jim hangs his head at that and looks away, knowing he lied to Jared – or, well, never exposed the whole truth, just tiny bits of it.

Jared’s taste buds go numb and he forgets about coffee altogether. 

He almost jumps up, which is quite difficult in an armchair like this. He did not see this coming, of course he didn’t. He thought Jensen Ackles was here to help from time to time, not the other way, and he feels betrayed. Stubble and gorgeous eyes and breathtaking shoulder-to-waist ratio aside, Jared does not like Jensen Ackles all that much. And having him as his coach – his brain decides that the attractiveness of the person in question might get him one single bonus point. Which is not much. 

“Jim –“

“Don’t go there,” Jim stops him and waves his hand. “It’s not because I feel old or whatever bullshit someone else might pull. No. This is for your own good.”

“You can’t be serious,” Jared argues, and chances a quick glance at Jensen. It’s enough to see that he’s amused. And Jared is pissed, because this is not fair – they should have talked about this in private, without audience. Jim should have mentioned this before, not announce it like it’s nothing. Jared can feel his lungs expanding with anger as he inhales, and shrink in anxiety and panic as he exhales.

Another sigh. “I am serious,” Jim confirms and looks at Jensen and then back at Jared. “Listen, I told you last night. My technique and advice don’t matter all that much anymore, kid, and my insight is not as important is it once was.”

“You’re the best coach I could have, so don’t even bother,” Jared exclaims and has to fight the sudden urge to just stand up and march out of the house. That would be immature, he knows, and however angry he is (and embarrassed, under Jensen’s insistent eyes), he doesn’t want to let it go.

“Jared,” Jim says, and it’s urgent enough to stop Jared’s messy thoughts for a second and make them quiet down a bit. “I can’t command you to agree with this, but I’m asking you to consider it, and I’m asking you to understand. Your chances are much bigger with him.”

Jim looks back at Jensen at that, and Jensen (probably secretly a mind-reader, which means Jared is screwed), nods and takes it from there without further hesitation.

“Jim is right,” he says and Jared feels awfully cornered. “He’s a great coach and a great skater, but I’m better.”

_Pretentious dick,_ flies through Jared’s mind before he can stop himself from thinking that.

He can’t transform it into words, that much he knows, and so he simply glares in Jensen’s direction and then looks at Jim with pleading eyes. He wants to pull the ‘you can’t be serious’ card again, but it is pretty obvious he _is_ indeed very serious by now.

That is how Jared finds himself speechless, for the first time in a very long time. Even in Italy – which seems ages ago – he kept breaking his tongue over Italian words, just to push back the silence. But right now, in this very situation, he can feel the drought of his throat and the blank nothing that is his head. 

“Are you okay with this?” Jim insists after a few moments of silence.

Jared knows the decision doesn’t really belong to him – it has already been decided.

Jared doesn’t know just how much Jim had to push and push until Jensen Ackles agreed to going back to figure skating and being Jared’s coach. He doesn’t know what’s going on in Jim’s head. And he absolutely hates the only thing he does know – that if he’s not sure about anything, he can always trust Jim’s opinion. That’s what he’s always known. And he hates, _hates_ , that right now, Jim opinion is that he is no longer good enough a coach for him.

Which probably means he really isn’t. His argument, after all, sounds valid.

Jared’s eyes slowly go from Jim’s face to Jensen’s. He stares at him, trying not to give away how much he dislikes him at the moment. It’s ridiculous, really, because Jensen Ackles still screams all things attractive to Jared – and yet, and yet he can’t stand him, at this very moment.

Jared feels like a kid.

He feels indecisive and pushed into something he doesn’t like. Not even half an hour ago, he was almost enthusiastic to get back on the ice, and right now? Right now, he feels like burying his head in the sand and never speaking to anyone again, not even Danneel, because right now it seems that everyone is against him and even she would be. She would say, _Jay, you gotta understand they’re right_ , or _Jay, don’t you dare throw this chance away_.

As if that would matter. As if anything matters right now.

Because to be quite honest, he has no other choice than to roll with what Jim is suggesting, if he wants to keep skating. And Jared know he does, despite all the trouble.

“I don’t like it,” Jared announces, knowing it’s making Jim nervous and Jensen annoyed. “But I guess I have to be okay with it, whether I like it or not.”

“It’s for your own good,” Jim repeats and that is not fair, that is the opposite of fair, because he is playing the father again, playing the same cards over and over again indeed.

“I have a condition,” Jared adds before Jim and Ackles can start discussing further details.

“And what is that?” Jensen asks in a mocking way, his interest clearly fake. Mannerisms of a young boy who can’t even skate properly yet – that is not what he is here for. 

Jared frowns. “I don’t agree with Jim being your assistant or whatever you want to call it. You’re both my coaches, you both do my choreography with Gen.”

Jim, who looked tense when Jared started talking, now relaxes. “Of course, Jay. It’s just a title, assistant or whatnot. I’ll still be there for every training, kicking your ass.”

“Good,” Jared nods and sinks back into the depths of the armchair. His heart is still beating furiously, his mind still blank, but he knows there’s nothing he can do about it now. _I still don’t like it, though_ , he thinks to himself as he watches Jensen sip on his coffee like he’s having breakfast at freaking Tiffany’s.


	3. Chapter 2

“You should have said something,” Jared utters through his gritted teeth as he ties the laces of his skates tightly, trapping his ankles in them.

They’re at the Detroit Skating Club rink, and Jared’s sitting on a bench, getting ready for his first training. Jensen isn’t there yet, being late obviously being a normal thing with him.

Jim, on the other hand, is right there, standing above Jared like a statue, biting down every offended word Jared has let out of his mouth so far – and those are quite a few.

“I didn’t want to talk about it over the phone,” Jim argues, defending himself.

Of course, they’re talking about the fiasco that happened a week ago, when Jim announced Jensen would be taking his place as Jared’s coach, and Jim would only assist. Jared is still pissed about that, to be honest.

Mostly because he doesn’t like Jensen all that much, but also because he still feels betrayed and hurt. 

He knows it’s wallowing in self-pity, but Jared can’t help feeling cornered – like a child, he feels like _just_ when he decided giving up was not an option, someone simply had to put a huge obstacle (Jensen) right in front of him to deal with. 

“I don’t care,” Jared announces. “It wasn’t fair. Besides, Jim. We had at least ten minutes to talk before Ackles got there. You simply didn’t want to bring it up.”

“Don’t be childish,” Jim grimaces and takes a quick step back when Jared stands up and puts on his hoodie, then fixes his pants. The hoodie already carries a smell – Jared went for a run in the morning to stretch his lazy legs and didn’t take a shower afterwards.

Jared raises his eyebrows in question, a pretty obvious one: _You’re telling_ me _not to be childish?_ and stomps off awkwardly in his skates towards the rink.

Jared circles the rink a few times, feeling the skates, feeling the ice, getting used to that scratching sound again. He feels peculiarly unstable on the ice, every time he tries a spin feeling like he might fall onto his ass.

Jim is holding back and not commenting on anything. It’s not a proper training yet, especially since Jensen still isn’t there, and Jared is simply getting back to it.

He is surprised to feel panic, and even more surprised to feel a knot tie in his chest, when he finally makes himself jump. 

It’s supposed to be a double Lutz, something small and easy, but he miscounts and lands on both his feet, executing it poorly.

“You just invented a new jump?” says a voice on Jared’s left.

Jared’s head shoots up and he narrows his eyes just to see Jensen standing by Jim’s side, his stupid sunglasses pushed up in his short hair. He wants to be angry, but the pink coloring his cheeks labels him as an embarrassed teenager.

“It was a Lutz,” Jared mumbles, more to himself than to Ackles, and turns his back on both of his coaches. He checks his wristwatch and almost moans when he realizes it’s only a few minutes past ten, meaning there’s still over an hour left of his training.

Which wouldn’t be so bad – he could probably play it cool and get off the ice early, since it’s their first day, but then stupid Jensen Ackles speaks up again.

“Okay,” he says, which _still_ isn’t all that bad, “Jim tells me he’s got your music from last season here. You remember your choreography?”

And _that_ is bad.

Jared has close to no interest in dancing to freaking Bolt by some dead composer, especially since Ackles won the freaking Championships with it, and he stops dead in his tracks when he hears him ask.

Quickly, lie, he tells himself.

“Of course I do,” comes out of his mouth instead and if he were alone, he would probably just lie down and bang his head against the ice as a punishment for being so damn stupid and spazzy.

“I would like to see it,” Jensen continues, then.

Jared purses his lips. There’s half of the rink separating them, but he can still see the amused look on Jensen’s face, and that’s when – and why – he decides to not make it easy for him. So far, Jared’s had the impression that Jensen thinks highly of himself, considers his time to be precious, wants everyone to be grateful for having him as a coach. Jared doesn’t like that. He likes how Jensen _looks_ , obviously, but he doesn’t like his attitude.

“Not gonna happen,” Jared exclaims and he can almost see Jim mouth ‘childish’ again. Then so be it. “This is the first time I’ve skated in almost six weeks.”

Jensen’s eyebrows jump up. “You just said you remember the choreography. What’s the problem, then?”

“The problem is that I know I wouldn’t execute anything properly and I’m not here for you to mock me for it. It’s not gonna happen today.”

And Jared can see just how much Jensen wants to walk in on the ice, skates or not, walk up to Jared and fight him on this. He remains where he is though, the same amusement still plastered onto his face, but without former honesty to it. 

Too bad. Jared would have liked to fight him on it, he thinks, although he knows it’s mostly because he is not used to this. He’s used to Jim, and while he is still there, he is now no comfort to him – in Jared’s mind, he is a traitor, at least for the time being.

“When is it going to happen, then?” Jensen asks. “I’m sure you understand I will have to see you skate if I’m supposed to teach you how to do it properly.”

Jared scoffs and starts skating backwards. “Give me a day, and then I’ll give you my best,” he shouts back at him.

Of course, Jared’s best is not exactly the _best_ , not even close to it.

One of the reasons is that he’s come to hate Shostakovich with all his heart and skating to his music is problematic.

Another thing standing directly in the way is the panicky feeling he gets whenever he is about to execute any jump. Triple Axels become double Axels, his double Lutz becomes a basic one, and the only thing not being troublesome at this point are simple toe loops. Jared is ashamed of himself, and his head hangs low when the music stops.

His chest is heavy with quick breathes and shame.

“Well,” Jensen comments from where he’s standing, which is pretty much the same spot that found him the day before. “I’m sure that’s not your best.”

Jared looks up and narrows his eyes, glaring. “I know.”

Jensen sighs then, and this time, he does step on the ice, taking a few steps. He’s perfectly stable, the fact he’s not wearing skates obviously not an issue. “There’s no point in trying to perfect this. We’ll move on.”

Jared quietly rolls his eyes. Of course there was no freaking point in him skating to Shostakovich – he suspects it was only for Jensen’s entertainment. 

He doesn’t comment on it, though, trying to fight this war with politeness as opposite to Jensen’s obvious teasing. It’s not very effective, he decides, but he unfortunately likes Jensen’s face too much to actually spit in it, metaphorically or not.

“Have you met my choreographer yet?” Jared asks, once again biting back every snarky comment he might have come up with.

“I talked to Miss Cortese shortly after agreeing to coach you, yes,” he nods, “We discussed a few things. We will be working on your choreography together.”

“Oh,” falls disappointedly from Jared’s lips before he can stop it, “of course.” 

Of course Jensen would take this away from him – this being the only opportunity to talk shit about his new coach. Jim could be an option, at some point, once Jared stops being mad at him.

Speaking of Jim, Jared only now realizes he’s been silent the whole time, really more an observer than another coach. After all, Jared had almost expected that.

“Well,” Jensen adds, “she told me you usually meet on Thursdays, and I thought that was as good a day as any. That okay with you?”

“Sure,” Jared shrugs, feeling as if a great weight has been put on his shoulders, and he’s not sure if he’s supposed to lift it and throw it away or straighten up and simply carry it, for as long as needed. 

“Good. Let’s work on your toe loops, now,” Jensen decides and steps back a little.

Jared frowns. “My toe loops are okay,” he argues as a little kid, only to be met with a short shake of Jensen’s head.

“Kid,” he says, and it’s not even close to the way Jim used to say this word sometimes. “You’re nowhere near perfect with any of your jumps. So stop walking around with your nose up in the air and let’s start working on making it better.”

Jared feels a great wave of anger squeeze his chest and for a second, he sees red. There’s a fourteen years gap between them, and Jared really wants to punch Jensen for each and every one of them. He’s not sure who’s the one walking around like that, and he wants to tell him just that, but he exhales and clenches his jaws instead.

“Don’t ever call me that again,” he mutters, and is surprised to see that it erases the dumb grin that’s been dancing on Jensen’s face for the past five minutes. At least he knows Jared is not a punching bag and he won’t take disrespect, even if it’s Jensen freaking Ackles we’re talking about.

Jared turns his back on Jensen, who is ridiculously short compared to Jared on his skates, and moves to the other side of the rink, as far from his new coach as he can possibly get without endangering himself as he starts jumping.

Oh, he’ll show that little bitch just how okay his toe loops are.

While ignoring Jim’s intense stare like it’s not even there. 

And the same goes for Jensen, stupid Jensen with his arms across his chest, like he’s saying, _show me what you’ve got,_ kid _, or I’m out._

It’s a lovely Monday, Jared decides when he walks out of his apartment building and breathes in the fresh morning air. The sun is barely up, Jared can’t even see it properly there on the horizon, but he can already feel its warmness fighting through his hoodie and leaning against his skin.

It might be a bit too hot, even though it’s not even eight in the morning yet, but it’s not exactly like he minds. It wouldn’t be a proper workout without the right amount of sweat.

He starts jogging the moment he steps out on the sidewalk, setting a slower pace to start with.

He sees his neighbor, a lovely girl named Charlotte, who waves at him and he waves back – and her dog barks as a hello as they pass on the sidewalk, but they don’t exchange any words.

Mostly because Jared’s got his headphones on and he’s listening to Fleetwood Mac like there’s no tomorrow. It’s his running music, and the volume’s all the way up, and he doesn’t even care. People used to mock him so hard for loving the band, he doesn’t give a shit anymore. 

When someone pats him on the shoulder, he screams and almost dies right there, startled as probably never before. He stumbles and almost trips, but the hand that had touched him grips him now and stops him from falling and hurting himself.

He looks around just to see Jensen standing there, and he’s obviously talking, concern on his face, but Jared is too wide-eyed and startled and too much blood is rushing through his heart as it beats frantically, that he doesn’t even realize he’s still got his music on and he can’t hear a word the guy is saying.

He recollects himself a few seconds later and finally pulls the headphones out of his ears. His breathing is still not back to even.

“You scared the shit outta me,” he says, waving his hands wildly, Fleetwood Mac being so loud Jared can still faintly hear Affairs of the Heart playing in them.

“Yeah – I really didn’t want to scare you,” Jensen apologizes, probably for the second time.

“Would be worse if I had a heart attack, so, cool,” Jared mumbles.

It’s weird running into Jensen here, he realizes, surprised. It shouldn’t be weird, but it is. 

He’s used to Jensen in his casual but expensive clothes, with his sunglasses up even though he’s been inside for good few hours. He’s used to see him composed and perfect, always having something to say.

He’s used to the Jensen who might call him ‘kid’ again – but he seems to have learned his lesson, seems like he wouldn’t do that again. Jared’s glad.

And the Jensen he’s seeing now, that’s a different one, and that is surprising, and odd. 

Jensen is wearing a hoodie similar to the one Jared is wearing – grey and plain, most likely bought in a thrift store for these occasions only. He’s not wearing sunglasses, and there’s sweat glistening on his face, and Jared gets the weird feeling in stomach he got when he first saw him.

Jared almost feels like this is his second first impression of Jensen, and he thinks he likes this one better.

He notices Jensen’s freckles and the ginger-y color to Jensen’s stubble, with sun shining through it. He’s almost in awe.

Jensen Ackles _is_ , once again, but this time, he looks like a completely normal guy, one Jared would stare after if he saw him randomly. 

It’s odd and it takes Jared off balance and suddenly, he doesn’t know what to do with his hands, where to look, and the worst issue of them all – he doesn’t know what to say. 

He is used to disliking Jensen for his attitude and for his manners and for agreeing with Jim on something Jared didn’t agree on. He’s used to disliking him _because_ , because that’s the easy way out of this one.

By this point, he’s used to arguing with him over the music he will be skating to, over whether he should jump his Lutz first or not, he’s used to standing opposite him. Tall and stubborn as a child.

But here, on the sidewalk, the most random of all places, they are completely equal, or that’s how Jared feels (although Jensen’s still losing a few inches on him).

“Mind if I join you?” Jensen asks, then, and that somehow takes Jared by surprise as well.

He’d always suspected Jensen would be the last person to socialize with someone who brought him back to figure skating (someone who is pretty rude half the time, but then again, it’s not like Jensen is an angel).

Jared considers saying no, just because he likes to run alone, listen to music and think about things – or not think about anything at all.

But then he looks at Jensen again, sees his face, takes it in, not just his face but his tshirt peaking from under the hoodie, he can almost feel how damp it must be from his sweat, and he finds himself shrugging.

“Yeah, why not.”

Jared finds it in him to start running again, and Jensen does the same, keeping at Jared’s side.

Jared’s still squeezing his headphones in his left hand, Johnny Cash taking over Fleetwood Mac with the next song.

“Didn’t think you’d be into that kind of music,” Jensen comments quickly, saving his breath. Jared is almost relieved to see that Jensen is the kind of person to talk while running.

He blushes, however, pink coloring his cheeks, and he hopes it simply looks like he’s hot from the running. The music is still way too loud, of course Jensen can hear it – and for some reason, Jared is embarrassed by it. 

“Really?” he says into an exhale. “What kinda music did you think I’d be into?”

If the sun wasn’t up and if they weren’t running, Jared could easily mistake this conversation for one taking place at a shady bar. It’s the dumbest kind of conversation, one that teenagers would have, but he and Jensen are way too different, or so Jared believes, to talk about something else. They are too far apart, too distant.

“I don’t know,” Jensen answers dumbly, avoiding a crack in the sidewalk and brushing his shoulder against Jared’s for a split second as he does that. Tt’s nothing, it’s accidental, but it makes Jared step to the side a bit, to avoid contact, to avoid anything that might send blood rushing down to his crotch. Jensen’s hot shoulder was pretty close to that. “I guess I thought you’d be into pop music. Kesha, Flo Rida, Beyoncé.”

“Hey, Beyoncé is my queen,” Jared says with a laugh, fully aware that this is exactly the answer any gay man would give these days. 

And after all, that is exactly what he is.

“Oh, yes,” Jensen agrees, his almost-forty year old self now really becoming a teenager. “She is basically flawless.”

“Oh man, when she dropped her new album,” Jared muses, quickly running of breath. There’s a reason why you’re not supposed to talk while running. 

Jensen beside him laughs. “Don’t even mention it. I’m still recovering.”

They share another laugh, and Jensen feels so so human, his shoes hitting the pavement, his shoulder now in a safe distance from Jared’s. But he’s so real, and so normal, and Jared decides that he likes this side of him.

They go on discussing why people think it’s not possible to like all kinds of music at the same time, and they don’t mention figure skating once. They never talk about the fact they’re going to see each other in less than two hours, and they don’t need to. Jared is thankful that they don’t. It would ruin the magic.

It’s hard for him to admit that there is magic in this moment, as they run next to each other, counting minutes and distance for the other one, be it the real one or the one keeping them apart, in Jared’s head.

Jared likes Jensen, as they part ways after twenty-three minutes and he shoves his headphones back into his ears. It’s so stupid, but he likes him. In this moment, he’s not Jensen, The Guy Who Replaced Jim. He’s Jensen, The Guy Who Loves Beyoncé and Is Nice. Jared feels like those are two different people, and perhaps there’s his mistake.

Either way, dumb or not, he almost sub-consciously puts Beyoncé on as he finishes his run.

Jared is only two minutes late that day, this time really because of the traffic, and Jim and Jensen are both there already.

“One of these days I’m gonna think you’ll learn coming on time,” Jim comments. He is the one now sitting down on a bench and getting his skates ready.

Jensen is seated right next to him, doing the same. He looks up at Jared, but doesn’t say anything – just grins before looking down again.

“Good day to you, too,” he says in Jim’s direction (and secretly in Jensen’s). 

He’s not sure what to think – he could have sworn him and Jensen got along just fine in the morning, and he actually planned on carrying on in that tone, but that’s obviously not appreciated here.

Jensen doesn’t even say hi back, and Jared, however hard he doesn’t want to admit it to himself, feels it as it stings.

As if he wished Jensen would be nicer. As if he accepted that Jensen is the one he needs to work with now.

“I called Genevieve,” is the first thing Jensen says, and Jared frowns. “I know it’s not Thursday, but the sooner we start with your choreography, the more time we’ll have to work on it.”

Jared senses the same old coldness in his voice, the one that had been absent just this morning.

He is taken aback – by this fact and by the fact that once he decided he likes Jensen, it obviously meant passing the point of no return. He can’t take that back. He likes him – or at least the side of him he encountered earlier – and that’s why it almost _hurts_ to be this distant and professional again.

Jared almost reacts by fighting, arguing back. But he doesn’t; shuts his mouth seconds before saying something stupid and stubborn.

He shrugs instead. “Yeah. Sounds fine.”

He exchanges a look with Jim, and then purses his lips as he walks past them. 

He quickly disappears in the dressing room, even though he’s already wearing the clothes he usually skates in, and he closes the door behind him.

Jared is not sure what is happening – with him, to him. He’s got Jensen on his mind, and he feels uneasy all over.

Fortunately enough, the uneasy feeling disappears the second he walks onto the ice. Even with Jensen’s, Genevieve’s and Jim’s eyes on him, he feels free. They don’t have any kind of choreography – they still haven’t agreed on music – and maybe that’s why it feels so good to be standing on ice again.

“How about Hans Zimmer, for short program?” Jensen suggests all of a sudden and Jared turns to him.

Hans Zimmer is perfect. Lots of skaters use his music, but Jared doesn’t mind that. He hates that he hasn’t thought of it before, that Jensen had to come up with it, and hates that he wants to agree.

Genevieve’s got a frown covering her face, like she’s already working on it in her mind, and Jim chimes in.

“I think that’s a great idea,” he says and Jared is still mad at him, for some reason; even now. He doesn’t like that Jim only ever speaks up to agree with Jensen these days, otherwise sits quietly, simply observing whatever situation is going on. It’s probably because he wants Jared and Jensen to finally click, but still. _Still._

“I think he would fit you nicely,” Jensen adds after a second, “your style would match his music.”

It is probably the first compliment Jensen has ever given him, and Jared can feel heat rushing up his neck and covering his cheeks. 

It does show one thing, though – that something must have changed and even though Jensen still wants to keep his distance, his opinion on Jared has grown better.

Despite that, Jared still needs to curl his fingers into fists in order to overcome his own stubbornness. 

“Okay,” he agrees reluctantly. “But I want something from Batman.”

Jensen grins, as if he expected him to have conditions, or as if he knew it would be this exact one. “Which one?”

Oh, man. Jared is _screwed_.


	4. Chapter 3

Jared ends up with Hans Zimmer for his short program and Yann Tiersen for his free program – two soundtrack makers, basically, but all four of them agreed on it, and it’s not exactly uncommon. Jared feels like there will come a time when Hans Zimmer will be considered a classic.

Working on his choreography is somewhat mentally draining. It takes a lot – over two weeks to get one together, and that’s just the short program.

Jared still argues with Jensen a lot – even with Jim, although he’s found his way around, finally, and isn’t mad at him anymore.

They do have different opinions, mostly, and maybe it’s just Jared being stubborn. He cannot be all that wrong, though, because it sometimes so happens that Jensen backs down and lets Jared have his own way – and they all know that he wouldn’t if he didn’t think it was for the best.

Jared grins, sometimes, when he realizes Jensen is just as stubborn as he is.

Jensen, however, remains a mystery. 

Jared can’t see past the mask he wears every single day.

They have clicked, which made Jim happy, as he admitted to Jared a bit later, but they are still distant. The spark Jared felt briefly when they ran into each other outside of the building almost feels surreal by now, like it’s actually never happened.

Jensen can be nice – Jared knows that now. But still, still, there’s a huge gap between them and Jared usually shies away from trying and closing it.

Jensen does not do anything to become friends with Jared, or to be at least a bit closer, and Jared doesn’t know whether that’s because he likes to be professional and keep his distance in order to achieve that, or if it’s because he realized Jared likes him.

Because Jared does like him.

Once he grows used to him and accepts him as his coach and as a person he has to spend the majority of his days with, he starts to like him. He blames it on Jensen’s looks, because those are truly unforgettable, but he knows it’s more than that.

Jared likes mystery, and Jensen _is_ one, after all. He carries this aura around him, one that Jared cannot decipher but is so interested in it almost makes him crawl out of his skin.

Jensen keeps bugging him, he’s on his mind even when they’re not together – which at first is weird, Jared feels like he should be tired of Jensen’s face, happy to relax and not think of it.

The opposite is, in fact, true, but Jared fights it as best as he can – wastes his evenings off with pushing Jensen out of his mind.

Other evenings, he simply spends hours and hours in his bathtub, thinking about his choreography, running over it in his mind and simply relaxing. Sometimes, when he’s extremely lonely (because his busy life does get like that from time to time) and Danneel is unreachable, he will wish that Jensen was there with him. But he can now forget that thought so quickly it’s almost easy to pretend it wasn’t even there.

Jared thinks, although he secretly knows that it isn’t quite true, that Jensen is simply this new, exciting person in Jared’s life that it’s impossible to not treat it like a big deal. And his mind just goes off on its own sometimes – not like he can control that.

His life falls into a pretty mundane routine by the end of August: he wakes up at six every day (with the exception of his days off), and goes for a run. He gets back home around half past seven, takes a long shower and gets ready for the day. By nine, nine thirty-ish, he’s at the rink, ready to train. 

On Thursdays, he meets with Genevieve and consults his choreography with her, because it’s nowhere near perfect. 

He trains for approximately eight hours each day, dance lessons and work out sessions and endless hours on his treadmill included. 

He’s not tired of that all, though – he almost wishes he could spend more time on the ice.

He’s grown so fond of it, again – and he is endlessly thankful for that. He was worried for a while that he would be forever afraid of jumping and moving around the rink, circling it. He is not – he feels greater respect that before, but he’s learned how to enjoy his time, the speed of it, and the scratch of his skates against the ice.

Life is good, at the moment. 

The routine is good – familiar, filled with the same five people, but despite that, good. It cheers him up, even though he doesn’t say so.

Jim and Gen know, even Danneel does, because they’ve been around him for quite a while now and can read comfort and cheeriness off his face. Jensen doesn’t know, though, and Jared would never have it in his gut to tell him.

It’s mid-September (more like the end of it, really, but October is Jared’s least favorite month for whatever reason, and so he pretends he’s not that close to it yet) and the weather is starting to cool a little, the wind picking up from time to time and making it harder to run.

But Jared doesn’t give that up – he loves fresh air filling up his lungs and even though he does get a bit lazy during winter, in September, he is out every single morning to run and run and run.

In Autumn, he never takes his headphones with him.

He enjoys running over dry leaves – he cuts through the park and runs beside the sidewalk, near the trees, so he has the chance to hear that glorious crunchy sound. He likes that about Autumn.

It’s Thursday, and he’s just planning what he’s going to tell Genevieve – “Let’s switch the spins up, I wanna to the sit spin first” – when he hears his name, as the wind carries it from across the street.

He breaks out of his thoughts and looks in that direction, just to see Jensen there, on the other side of the street, waving.

“Hey!” he yells.

Jared, before he can think about it, yells ‘hey’ back and jogs over to Jensen, not even careful enough. 

“Didn’t see you there,” he comments once he’s next to him.

They’re both jogging in the same spot, this time quite awkward. They haven’t run into each other since that very first time, and Jared almost completely forgot that they both run each morning, in the same neighborhood.

“I blend in really well, years of practice,” Jensen says dryly, and once again, it’s completely different than what’s Jared is used to.

The tone, the look on Jensen’s face, it’s something completely new – well, Jared does recall the conversation they once had, but that’s so long ago that the memory is hazy. 

And right then and there he decides that he’s had it up here.

He’s starting to feel like Jensen has a twin brother – one Jensen is Jared’s coach, and the other one is this weird but lovely creature who doesn’t mind saying hello and engaging in a conversation. And that is annoying and Jared doesn’t like it. 

The only thing keeping him from simply asking what exactly Jensen problem is, is the fact that that would be the opposite of polite and Jensen would probably mind that. Jared’s got the idea that Jensen doesn’t exactly like straight-forwardness – he likes to be left alone and if Jared went and invaded his personal space with a question like that, he probably wouldn’t take it well.

“Mind if I join you?” he asks, a plan forming in his mind.

Jensen is the one to shrug this time, only a slight grin on his face. “Sure.”

Jensen starts running in the same direction he’d been running before, and Jared joins him, even though it’s the opposite direction that he’d wanted to run in. But this is worth it, he decides.

“Why don’t you have your headphones with you?” Jensen inquires and when Jared explains, Jensen actually laughs out loud, like it’s the stupidest thing he’s ever heard, but his laugh sounds sincere and his whole face comes alive with it, and Jared doesn’t mind. He doesn’t mind at all. “Too bad,” Jensen says when the last bits of his laughter fade, “I liked listening to your music last time.”

“It was embarrassingly loud,” Jared protests, but a smile fights its way onto his face.

“I didn’t mind,” Jensen shrugs, and side-glances at Jared, only for a brief second, but Jared notices anyway. “I almost wish you had them with you. We could have jammed to Beyonce together,” he says, and Jared’s gut squeezes when he realizes Jensen remembers, and actually references it. 

He smiles. This works well for his plan – Jensen’s doesn’t even know.

“We can do that,” Jared informs him and he almost laughs when he sees the alarm on Jensen’s face before he can hide it. Almost as if he was afraid of hanging out, as if that meant death or something equally horrible. “I mean, we could run together.”

“Oh,” is Jensen’s response, and that’s it. That’s it. Jared can’t even tell what emotion that is supposed to stand for.

Jared raises his eyebrow. “I mean, we obviously both run, and why not run together? We already spend every day together, so… and it’s nice to have a buddy, I guess?”

For a second, Jared is worried that his plan won’t actually work out. Because, yes, this has been his plan all along – teenager-y as fuck, but hey, better than nothing. Honestly, running together is the only thing that comes to mind – Jensen really doesn’t look like the hanging-out kinda dude. Running serves a purpose and it would be probably the best opportunity for Jared to get to know Jensen. 

And he will take it, if Jensen will.

“That… makes sense,” Jensen mumbles after all.

He’s _blushing_ , Jared realizes when he looks to the side and at him, and his knees go momentarily wobbly. 

They don’t say much for the rest of their run, except for when they are going to meet the next day at seven in the morning.

Jared doesn’t mind. He doesn’t mind, because he remembers that blush, and he likes it so much he doesn’t even try to push it out of his mind.

The following Friday evening finds Jared at a bar, with Danneel. He’s not a big fan of drinking – mostly because he’s not a big fan of throwing up – but after all, it does feel good to just go out and have a night to himself.

And it’s not like he could get drunk on beer. 

“So many calories,” Danneel muses as he sips on her beer, not even bothering with a glass. She always comments on that, but it seems to almost cheer her up – most of the bottle’s contents disappear in her stomach in minutes.

“I see you’re not complaining,” Jared says.

The bar is nice – not the one they usually go to, but then, that one is closed for mysterious reasons (everyone is talking rats but that is hard to believe). It’s a small, tiny space, and considerably loud. It’s dim, almost intimate, and the music they’re playing is not exactly annoying, although not his favorite either.

They are both squeezed at one tiny table in one of the corners. They chose this place so that they would actually hear each other over other people talking.

“So what’s the statistical probability of getting shitfaced while drinking beer?” she asks instead.

“Not very high,” Jared comments, “but you can always try.”

“You sure you don’t want to do vodka shots this time?” she asks with the most innocent look she manages, but it’s not all that convincing.

Jared shrugs. “Not that I _remember_ what happened last time, but I’m sure it was nasty. So, no.”

“You’re such a killjoy,” she groans. “I hate it when you get all responsible.”

“You’re gonna thank me tomorrow morning when you wake up in your bed and not on your bathroom floor.”

“That was once,” she holds up her finger, almost offended, “and it was your bathroom floor and it stank so much I almost died. Pretty sure that’s why I threw up in the first place.”

“Yeah, sure,” Jared nods at her with a grimace, but lets it go. 

They do have lots of drunk stories; he mostly remembers hers, and then the other way around. But he does remember jumping off a tall wall and into someone’s garden – he almost broke his heels, which hurt a lot for at least two weeks. He cringes just thinking about that now.

“So tell me,” she says then, rolling the bottle between her fingers, her red hair held up in a ponytail. “How’s your Mr. Famous coach?”

“I literally complained about him for three weeks straight, Danni,” Jared sighs, “Why are you even asking?”

“Because then you stopped complaining,” she explains and shrugs. “So of course I’m asking. What happened?”

“I don’t know, I just,” _I just developed a crush on him, I guess_ , “I just made my peace with Jim and everything and we started agreeing on things and, yeah. I stopped complaining, I guess. I didn’t even realize. Yeah.”

“Oh my God,” she laughs then. “You’re freaking unbelievable!”

“What?” Jared asks, his cheeks coloring in bright red. Thank God for the dim lighting in this place. 

“You like him!” she acclaims. Jared opens his mouth to protest, but she holds her hand up dismissively and shakes her hand. “Don’t even. Don’t _even_ try to deny it. You should see your face right now.”

Okay, so maybe the lighting isn’t as dim as he thought it was. He tries to calm down, but even though he wants to, there is no way he could talk himself out of this one now. 

“Danneel, please,” he says and clears his throat. “He’s attractive, and he’s new. I just need to get used to him. That’s all.”

“Well, I do hope so,” she tells him then, the most surprising reaction she could have come up with it.

In many ways, Danneel is your typical girl. She flails a lot, exaggerates some things and is expressive. She has always been Jared’s cheerleader – she was the first person Jared ever came out to, and she always accepted him. Whenever she found out Jared liked someone, she did cheer him on, supported him, wouldn’t stop talking about it until something happened. He expected gentle teasing, inappropriate comments – he did not expect this. 

“I mean… I know. He’s my coach and it would be unprofessional, but as I said –“

“It’s not that,” Danneel cuts him off. “Don’t you know about his ‘history’?” she asks, making air quotes around the last word.

Jared raises his eyebrow. “Should I? I thought he’s always been very secretive.”

“It’s like, it’s not like it’s official, but there are rumors,” Danneel informs him and then leans in. “Apparently, back when he skated with Alona, he had a thing with _their_ coach, Jeff something? And Alona was in love with Jensen, I mean, that’s what people say, and when she found out, they were supposed to have this huge fight and that’s – that’s when she was in that car accident and died.”

Jared’s mouth might as well be hanging open by the time Danneel finishes her little story. While he does remember her warning that these are just rumors, he doesn’t like it.

“Are you serious?” he breathes out. He has _never_ heard of that, what the fuck. “What, is this some secret info only lady figure skaters get?”

“No,” Danneel shakes her head, “this is info people who listen get.”

“Excuse me, I do listen,” Jared protests, but his mind is someplace else. It’s with Jensen, again.

“Anyway,” she says, “After that, he left their coach, just like that, without a word, and disappeared for like, four months. And then when he got back, and Jeff – yeah, his name’s Jeff, I remember now – had this, like, huge alcoholism problem going on, he wouldn’t even talk to him. He simply avoided him, and worked with Felicia – you know, the first lesbian figure skater who ever came out? Yeah. So. That happened. And I don’t think I like him.”

“Yeah, thanks for your input,” Jared comments dryly and looks down at his own bottle of beer. “That’s pretty detailed for only a rumor.”

“Well, you know. Nothing travels as well as words.”

“That is sickeningly true,” Jared admits.

He takes a sip of his beer – a pretty big one at that – and looks down, avoiding Danneel’s face. He did want to know more about Jensen, and this was probably only information available, but still – still, he feels guilty knowing. He feels guilty knowing without Jensen having to tell him. 

He wishes Danneel wouldn’t have told him.

“I don’t even like him that much anyway,” Jared adds then, quiet. 

It’s a lie.

Jared doesn’t want to, but he starts looking at Jensen in a different way. He didn’t want it to happen – when they met on Sunday morning for a run, Jared really tried to see Jensen in the same way he used to.

But that cannot happen.

The rumors – or facts, Jared doesn’t know whether to believe it or not – effect him, no matter if he likes it or not. 

Instead of mystery – or the mysterious aura he used to see around Jensen – he now sees sadness, for one reason or another. 

Instead of small talk, in which they engage each time they talk outside of trainings, Jared wants to start asking personal questions. He knows it’s not his place, that’s why he never does that, but he wants to. 

The way he used to perceive Jensen changes completely over the next two weeks. He sees Jensen’s occasional grumpiness as something else, and he suddenly considers everything Jensen does a remnant of his history. He hates himself for it, but Jensen stops being, it’s not longer _Jensen Ackles is_ , now it is _Jensen Ackles is his history_. 

Jared, for a while there, forgets that what makes people is not just one thing that happened in their past, not entirely. He thinks that whatever happened to Jensen those few years ago, whether those rumors are true or not, must have made him into the person he is now. He pities him, he realizes, and he doesn’t understand him at the same time.

Jensen is a whole new person in Jared’s eyes, once again, and it takes him another few weeks to get used to him.

He runs to Jim, in those few days, when he has a suggestion. It’s easier, because whenever he talks to Jensen, even when they meet for a run, he is constantly bugged by the idea that there’s something tragic and inexplicable in Jensen’s past, and it bugs him so much that he cannot focus on anything else properly.

However, this state of mind Jared temporarily ends up in, does not last forever.

He gets over himself, eventually. But still, even after that, he’s glad he’s got his running sessions with Jensen – and he wants to keep them up, even during winter. 

That was his original plan, so as to find something new about Jensen, to get to know him. 

Jared does get over himself, yes, that is true. But he still cannot stop thinking, from time to time, about _knowing_ what exactly happened. 

He feels like a teenager, every time he tries to Google it – which happens more than once, to Jared’s shame – but he can’t help himself.

He decides on keeping Jensen close, and he is not exactly sure what is the cause of that. He knows one thing though – he still likes him, even though he pretends that he doesn’t, and knows that maybe, he shouldn’t.

In the middle of December, Jared knows a fair amount of things about Jensen. Their conversations in the mornings, _and_ at the rink, have shifted, and are different now.

“How’s Roll?” Jared asks one morning, because now he knows that that is Jensen’s finger furry cat, his only companion. He’s even seen a picture – Jared doesn’t know what’s gotten into Jensen when he willingly showed him a few on his phone.

“He’s having trouble eating,” Jensen says to that, and then adds, “I’m worried. I might have to take him to the vet tomorrow.”

They developed this kind of friendship – Jensen feels comfortable enough to share something like that, and Jared is invested enough to care and actually feel sad about it – and for Jensen.

“I can go with you, if you want,” he offers, actually meaning it in the most sincere way.

Jensen sighs besides him, although it might have been just letting out a breath, after all, they do still hold these conversations while running. “Don’t you have gym tomorrow morning?”

“I could call it off. Haven’t had a day off in a while.”

Jensen looks up at him, considering it, and Jared – he must admit – is surprised to hear what he says. “I’d rather not go alone, in case –“

“Yeah, sure,” Jared cuts him off, because he knows it’s his job to do that so Jensen doesn’t have to state the uncomfortable, even though it’s also the obvious. “Pick me up any time, I should be home after the training.”

“We can go from there,” Jensen mumbles, “We’ll just stop at my house to pick him up, and then we’ll go.”

“Sure, sounds fine to me,” Jared says as casually as he can, although it excites him a great deal to think that Jensen would take him to his house. He feels _privileged_ that Jensen granted him the permission to step into his life – it has been a slow process, but he’s glad he made it. 

It might be December but Jensen is as interesting as ever, to Jared. 

On the next day, they do exactly what they planned. Jensen drives Jared to his house in his fancy car, but doesn’t invite Jared him. Not like that was expected – it wasn’t.

Jared says, “Nice to finally meet you, sir,” when Jensen places the cat in Jared’s lap (only after reassuring him that he is the laziest dog-like cat on Earth and will not scratch), almost as if he was trying to hit on a teenage girl.

Jensen appreciates it, though, with a smile.

As they drive to the vet, Jensen glances to the side from time to time, and Jared likes to think it’s because he wants to see him, not because he’s checking up on his nine year old cat. 

Fortunately, once they get there and the vet checks Roll, they are told that the cat just needs a proper fart. Apparently, he’s old and some kinds of food no longer do him good, and he needs to go on a diet. That’s good news – Jared was sort of scared they would have to put the cat to sleep (worst case scenario), and he had no idea what he would do with a sad cat owner who doesn’t like sharing his feelings with anyone.

So this is good, and Jensen’s mood approves and goes up so hard and so quickly it’s quite surprising. He’s all smiles and grins when he drops Jared off.

“Thanks for coming with me,” he says before Jared can get out of the car with a simple ‘see you tomorrow’.

The atmosphere in the car goes tense almost immediately, although Jared doesn’t know why. He just knows that he wants to turn to his side and press his lips against Jensen’s stubble, and then against his lips. He wants to kiss him so bad, right now, looking at Jensen in his white shirt, fingers gripping the wheel, Roll with his paws on Jensen’s thigh.

You can’t be a bad person if you love a cat so much, right? That’s something Jared has always considered true.

Jensen looks beautiful, and damn him for it. Damn him.

“Anytime,” Jared manages to squeeze out and then he jumps out of the car like there were thorns stinging his ass.

Jensen smiles again, as if oblivious to Jared’s sudden desperation, and he even waves as he takes off.

Jared stands there for a minute before going up to his apartment.

His night ends in a jerk-off session, hating the world and the fact he’s actually getting off to the image of Jensen’s face and Jensen’s everything. 

He also hates that he cannot say this is the first time such a thing happens.

Jared’s choreography is going well, and his technique is improving.

And Jared has never loved skating more. He takes special care so as to listen to everything Jensen and Jim have to say, Genevieve, too, sometimes, and it shows. He still shows his stubbornness from time to time, but he’s gotten so unbelievably better since Jensen came into his life. 

They all know it, even Danneel knows it, Danneel who is busy with her own trainings but keeps Jared updated on everything – just like he keeps her updated on everything. 

Everything excluding his huge stupid crush on Jensen.

Anyway, yes. 

January is almost here – after all, it’s two day until Christmas – and that means Prudentials and then Nationals. And then, the World Championships, if everything goes well.

But it should go well – Jared’s technique is so much better, and so are his jumps – everything is better, his lungs filled with joy every time he hears Zimmer or Tiersen. He is so far from being sick of that music it’s incredible. 

Jim and Jensen both clap their hands when Jared skates his short program without fucking up in any way that day. It’s the first time that happens – mishaps happen almost always and he stumbles or trips or does something differently than he was supposed to do it – and they are all genuinely happy about it.

“Great,” Jim compliments him. One thing that’s good about Jim being more of an assistant now is that he compliments Jared more often. Jared likes that. “You might as well win us a medal in January.”

“And even if you don’t,” Jensen says, because he is the one who simply needs to ruin the daydreaming now, “you’ve still improved so much I can’t believe it. You’re finally using your talent. Happy to see that, Jay.”

It’s the first time he calls him that – Jim always calls him that, and so this almost slips Jared’s attention like it’s nothing. 

But then he does realize, and he smiles so wide he’s sure his dimples are showing. “Thanks,” he says to both of them, and as if embarrassed, he turns around and circles the rink a few times in silence.

As he’s about to walk out of there and head home – he’s got a Skype call with Danneel scheduled, because meeting in person is somehow complicated – Jensen grabs his arm and stops him.

For a second, Jared goes through multiple sensations. The first one would be: oh my God, why is he touching me, what is going on. And the second one would be: did I do something to piss him off? 

“Hey,” Jensen smiles, and Jared breathes a sigh of relief. “Just wanted to tell you I’m skipping tomorrow morning.”

“Oh?” Jared raises his eyebrows. He wonders whether he’s allowed to ask, but before he can try, Jensen speaks up again.

“Christmas shopping. Which is probably going to kill me, but I gotta do it, right?”

“Right,” Jared mumbles.

The only thing he is aware of right now is that Jensen’s fingers are still squeezed around his shoulders and he knows that it shouldn’t be going straight to his crotch. But it is.

“Anyway, I’ll see you for your last training before Christmas, then,” Jensen concludes.

“See ya,” Jared says back, looking right at Jensen’s face, and, how – how is it that Jensen is almost forty and yet he is the most attractive person Jared has ever seen? Why is the age difference so normal to Jared, so casual, why doesn’t he ever notice it? Why has Jensen become this someone Jared simply wants, because he thinks this someone is worth it? Why does he even think that?

And Jensen’s hand is still there, gripping and not letting go.

For a brief second, the squeeze tightens even more, and Jensen is looking at him like he wants to say something else before really going.

But he never does. He never says anything, and eventually, he lets go.

It almost feels like he simply let Jared fall.


	5. Chapter 4

Jared planned to sleep in on Christmas Day, really, he did – his parents are not supposed to come until three in the afternoon and that is simply loads of time that could be well spent sleeping.

Life doesn’t give him that, though.

It’s still dark outside when his phone aggressively rings, the Game of Thrones theme echoing through Jared’s bedroom.

Jared wakes up to that, and to a weird taste in his mouth, with his tongue resting against the roof of it. He rolls onto his side and narrowing his eyes to prevent himself from going blind, he grabs his phone.

He checks the time first, the digits small and almost unreadable in the top corner. 4:28.

Then his eyes register the number and the name. _Jensen Ackles_ , it says.

Jared frowns and if he weren’t so damn sleepy, he would probably get excited. Jensen doesn’t call him often.

He half expects this to be a drunk call, and is secretly flattered that it would be him Jensen would choose.

“Jared?” Jensen says after Jared wakes up, but his voice does not sound drunk at all. He sounds serious – so serious it brings Jared back to those first few weeks where he could barely stand him.

“What is it?” Jared mumbles and lies back on his back, rubbing his face tiredly.

“It’s Jim,” Jensen explains, “He’s in the hospital.”

Jared can’t find it in him to fully comprehend what had just been said at first. He hums, but then Jensen’s words make it to his brain and he panics.

“What?” he asks with a small heart in his chest, scared. And he’s sitting up, and out of the bed, and he’s searching for his car keys, and he’s grabbing his hoodie, all in one second that feels like it drags on for minutes and minutes.

“Calm down,” Jensen says over the phone, his voice quiet and steady and low.

Jared stops with his hand on the doorknob, ready to run out and get to the hospital while breaking approximately twenty-one laws. 

Jim is old, but he is not _that_ old. He’s at the age where it’s actually acceptable to joke about fading away and walking like the hunchback of Notre Dame; you don’t end up at the hospital at age like this.

Except you do. Jared has seen it many times, and why should Jim be the exception to the general rule?

“How for fuck’s sake am I supposed to calm down after you call in the middle of the night and – and…?”

“He’s going to be fine,” Jensen continues with that soft tone, and Jared blinks a few times, letting that sink in. “He slipped and fell down the stairs in his house. Broke a leg, a few ribs, and hit his head pretty hard, but he’s going to be fine.”

“How do you even –“

“Yeah, he had me as his person to call if something happens to him,” Jensen explains. “I’m sorry, Jared.”

And Jared is not exactly sure what he is apologizing for – for waking him up in the middle of the night, perhaps, or for randomly ending up as Jim’s person to call. And, yes -- _why you, why not me_ is the first thing that Jared wants to ask, but he doesn’t. Jim would do that, of course he would – in his vain try to protect Jared from hurting. Jared knows this has been done because Jim didn’t want him to worry.

But of course Jared worries anyway.

“Thank you for calling me. Should I…?”

“He’s fine,” Jensen cuts him off, “You can come in tomorrow, or the day after. Go back to sleep, Jay. I just wanted to let you know right away.”

It’s funny how familiar Jensen’s voice is, funny how soothing it sounds to Jared’s ears in this moment. 

“Thanks,” he says again and hangs up before Jensen can say anything else to that, because he feels like he could never do it then. He would probably ask Jensen to tell him a bedtime story.

In his dark apartment, Jared rests his forehead against his door, and sighs. He breathes out, relieved, the stress that had built up in him in less than forty seconds now getting out of his system. He realizes his palms are sweaty and his heart is just now slowing down.

He shuffles back to his bedroom door and tries sleep again.

He’s not all that successful at that – he’s up at eight and is ready to leave for the hospital in half an hour.

He actually takes a cab, too lazy to drive and definitely too lazy to take a walk there (even though it’s not that far from his apartment) and can’t help but bating out a rhythm on his thigh with his fingers. He’s still nervous, despite being told that Jim is fine.

When he gets to the hospital, a surprise is waiting for him – when he’s directed towards Jim’s room, he runs into Jensen who is holding a cup of coffee and sipping from it.

“Hey,” he says, surprise still present in his voice.

Jensen looks up from his coffee as Jared walks up to him. “Hey. Don’t you have a family thing today? It’s Christmas, after all.”

“Well,” Jared points towards Jim’s room. “Jim is family. Don’t _you_ have somewhere to be or someone to be with?” 

Jensen opens his mouth to answer, but is silent for a few seconds, glancing at Jared questioningly, seemingly at a loss for words. “I don’t have that somewhere, really,” he says in the end and his eyes go back to the cup, “or the someone, now that I think about it.”

Jared remembers the rumor – Jeff, who played his part in it – and almost asks about it. Almost says, _It wasn’t always like this, was it?_ He bites down on his lip to keep those words away.

“Pretty sure Roll would be happy if he had you by his side right now,” he comments instead. Another thing he’s holding back, the following sentence: _I’m glad you’re here, and I wish I were your someone_.

“Ah,” Jensen grins, but his eyes are still glued to that ugly dark liquid. “That’s nice of you to say.”

Jared doesn’t know what to say to that, because everything his mind comes up with is either an innuendo or a hint at his stupid crush, or an even worse innuendo, or an even worse hint. So he keeps his mouth shut for a second, and then he motions towards Jim room again.

“Well, I’m gonna go see our big clumsy kid,” he exclaims and moves. On impulse, he adds, “You should come with, of course.”

Jared’s first post-Christmas training is set for December 26th.

When he goes for a run that morning, Jensen is nowhere to be seen. Jared doesn’t take his phone with him, and therefore can’t call him and ask what’s up, and so he waits for a few minutes and then simply goes for it alone.

He’s a bit late for his training – he was on the phone with Danneel, talking about Jim and Christmas and how it is a shame that they didn’t get to see each other, and he completely forgot what time it was. It was Danneel who reminded him – and it surprised him that she still knew his schedule even though they no longer met at the rink, since she now skated at the Arena. At least she was still in Detroit.

She ends her call with, “See you at the Prudentials,” and Jared is honestly out of it for a few minutes because _that_ is in ten days and he just feels like that is simply not enough time.

That’s why he is late for his training, but as he gets there, it seems like no one actually minds.

Genevieve is not there, is not supposed to be there for at least three more hours, but Jensen is there. 

When Jared walks in, he does so quietly. It’s not like he usually bursts into the room – “Here I am, everyone!” – but he still feels like he is, for some reason, quiet today. Perhaps ashamed of coming late, now, when Jim’s not there to comment on it.

What he finds is something completely unexpected.

He gets to the rink and he stands by the barrier and he is in awe.

Jensen is on the ice, his casual clothes so obvious and so not fitting, but he is on the ice, his skates on his feet, and he is skating.

It’s more like dancing, really. 

He’s simply moving, the silence being his music, the scratch of his skates being his rhythm. 

Jensen spins, and Jared finds himself holding his breath. His mouth might be slightly ajar, but he can’t help it – he never expected this. Even during trainings, Jensen always just talked, explained, went into details – but never did he go and show Jared how it is to be done.

And now there he is, and he owns the rink – it’s like he _is_ a part of the ice. His hand goes up, the elegance of the movement almost sickening, and he performs a twizzle, and then another one, holding the edge of his skate with his other hand.

Jared can see Alona next to him, doing the same in perfect sync.

But then, as if Jensen realized that he was being stupid, he speeds up, and when he gets to the other side of the rink, he jumps up, jumps up so high Jared cannot believe it, and his Axel is perfect. It’s so light and looks so easy and Jensen hair is a mess. His arms crossed against his chest, his face ridiculous, as it always is, from concentrating. 

His landing is perfect.

And then Jensen spots Jared and stops right there and there, the teeth of his skate cutting through the ice fiercely.

They stare at each other for a few long seconds, Jared’s heart up in his throat. He knows he just saw something he was not supposed to see. Jensen’s eyes are very clear about that – glaring, inspecting.

“I only just got here – “ Jared tries.

Hearing his voice changes something, and sets Jensen back into movement. He slowly skates towards him, and when he gets to the barrier, Jared have taken a few steps back already.

Surprisingly, Jensen dismisses the whole thing by simply not acknowledging it at all.

“Get your skates on, we’ve got lots of work to do before the competition,” he states simply, but his features are hardened and his eyes dart away from Jared’s face as if he was embarrassed by showing his weakness like that.

Jared wants to say he’s sorry, but he somehow knows that that would make things even worse. If Jensen decided not to talk about it, Jared is going to obey.

“I’ll be right back,” he mumbles, still completely star-struck.

The rest of the day goes on in the same manner – Jensen being grumpy and demanding and never satisfied with Jared’s skating, and Jared being too shocked and surprised and in love to focus on anything else, not to mention skating and competitions.

It’s one day before they fly out to Boston for the Prudential U.S. Figure Skating Championships and it is the first time that Jared actually feels Jim’s absence like a rash on his skin.

They don’t wrap up his training until eight in the evening, and by that time Jared’s whole body hurts. He still feels like he could have done more, though, even though he skated without all that many fuck ups today. 

Jensen somehow senses that Jared is pretty much close to a panic attack or at least a proper freak out session, because when he walks out of the building and Jared is just standing there, leaning against the cold wall, snow coming down all around him and catching in his hair, he does something rare and surprising.

“Do you want to go grab a beer?” he asks, standing suspiciously close to him.

Jared eyes him through the vapor coming out of his mouth, and he almost laughs at it. Because of course Jensen would choose _this_ night to socialize.

But really, it is such a surprise it’s ridiculous. This is not serious (not saving a cat, that is) and it’s not casual (like them running together). This is going out and spending time together on purpose – something that really, really involves talking.

Before Jared can responsibly remember the fact that he still needs to pack and then he needs to be at the airport at seven the following day, he’s shrugging and moving forwards. “Why not. Got a place in mind?”

“Not really. You know a place?”

“Please,” Jared waves his hand and his face finally breaks into a grin. “Hundreds. Follow me.”

They end up at Jared’s favorite bar – the one that was closed the last time he and Danneel met up. It’s not anymore – they probably solved their rat problem – and Jared aims right for his favorite booth.

Eighties music is playing tonight and Jensen comments on it briefly before they order their drinks.

Jared goes for beer, and Jensen goes for ginger beer, which is yet another surprising thing Jared never would have expected. 

They talk random things, Roll and their favorite foods, avoiding figure skating and anything particularly personal. 

But Jared always gets talkative after he’s had two beers; without hesitation, he simply asks the question he’s been wanting to ask ever since they first saw each other (thankfully and surprisingly it isn’t anything to do with whom Jensen had to sell his soul to to look so attractive).

“So, Jensen,” he starts, and grins. “Why did you even accept this job? I mean, it’s a well-known fact that you didn’t want to have anything to do with figure skating.” Jensen simply looks at Jared, silent, as if he overheard the question or simply decided not to answer it. Jared narrows his eyes. “Seriously. Did Jim blackmail you with something?”

Jensen finally smiles at that – a change after his poker face whenever something personal is brought up.

“No,” he says simply, and Jared honestly, _honestly_ thinks he’s going to go on and actually answer the question, but that is it. Jensen clears his throat and takes a sip of his bear, and falls silent – looks around the place, even.

Jared falls silent, too. He stupidly expected this to actually go somewhere (not necessarily his bed although that would have been nice, too), he expected this to be one real conversation – he expected to bond with Jensen over stupid beer. 

“Okay,” Jensen sighs and seems to look smaller in his chair. He must have noticed Jared’s disappointment, because now he’s toying with his bottle and looking down at it. “I saw your talent. That’s really it. I know it sounds pretentious. Staying out of the whole deal never meant not watching every figure skating event that was on TV. And I saw you last year, and I saw your talent.”

Jared laughs nervously. He has tensed up when Jensen started talking and hasn’t relaxed since, his gut oddly squeezed and not letting much air into his lungs. 

“But,” Jared starts and shakes his head, “But I was completely ridiculous last year. I screwed up so hard I wasn’t even sure I ever wanted to step on ice again.”

It’s Jensen who shakes his head this time, and he finally looks up. “Do you know why you screwed up so hard?” Jensen questions.

Jared frowns, tilts his head to the side. “I dunno. Because I was nervous, I guess.”

“Everybody’s nervous,” Jensen argues and then straightens his back. He leans closer to Jared, both his palms resting flat on the wooden table. “You screwed up because you trusted yourself too much. You thought you could do anything, you thought you owned the rink. That was your mistake. To skate properly, you need to respect the ice. Respect it and it will become your partner. It will help you then. And if you learn to respect it _and_ love it, there will be nothing in your way.”

It leaves Jared speechless, those words. He is completely astonished – not sure if that advice was deep, meaningful or just very objective, or perhaps something Jensen believed. Either way, he did not expect that – and doesn’t know how to accept it. That’s why he’s silent for a second there, and Jensen looks so expectant – and he is still leaning close over the table.

“You must have loved it a lot,” Jared says after all, and he knows that’s not the response that was wanted. Jensen’s face falls. “Dancing – skating, I mean. You must have loved it.”

“I did,” Jensen agrees, his voice dry.

“Why did you give it up, then?” Jared asks another question, and this one is way worse than the first one.

He remembers all the rumors as if Danneel only told him yesterday. And now that he’s actually asking about it, he’s suddenly not sure if he wants to hear it. 

“Why did you want to give it up after you screwed up?” Jensen comes back with a question in return.

Jared frowns, his forehead wrinkling. “But you didn’t screw up, so –“ Jensen shoots him a look, a _come on_ look, and Jared sighs exasperatedly. “I was afraid, I guess. That I would screw up again.”

“Yeah,” Jensen nods and finally pulls back, leaning back this time, as if desperately trying to maintain at least a little bit of distance, even though he’s lost most of it and they’ve never talked about anything more personal than this.

“But what were you afraid of?” Jared demands. He almost feels like the secret of the universe is about to be revealed to him.

Jensen shrugs his shoulders. “I’m pretty sure you heard the whole story already. I hear it travelled faster than plague in the fourteenth century.”

“I mean, I heard _rumors_ …” Jared trails off, feeling guilty even admitting that. He feels his cheeks color in furious pink and he bows his head, momentarily ashamed to look Jensen in the eyes.

“They are mostly true, I think,” Jensen says and in that second, Jared knows that he is going to tell the whole story, right now. He hears it in how quiet and low Jensen’s voice it, hears it in the deep sigh that comes out of his mouth.

Jared looks up.

“I got really drunk one night with Alona,” he starts, “and then she told me she had feelings for me. And I told her I had – I told her I loved someone else. I told her I have been seeing Jeff – our coach – for a few weeks and that we had been waiting to tell anyone because we didn’t know where it was going. We got in a huge fight, then,” Jensen gulps here, although his voice sounds so detached Jared needs to think about how many times Jensen must have seen this story run in front of his eyes, “we - _I_ \- said a lot of nasty things. She stormed out. I should have stopped her. She got in her car and drove away and, yes. The rest of the story was all over the media, so you know.”

“I know,” Jared exhales. 

“Anyway, I ran. I ran from Jeff and from everyone and I only took Roll with me. And then I got back and tried to skate again, on my own, but I couldn’t. Because I was afraid. Of what Alona would think, of the fact that I left Jeff to drink himself into oblivion – because he blamed himself for it, just like I did. Like I still do.”

_You shouldn’t_ , Jared wants to say, because his chest is hurting and he wants to hold Jensen so badly it only adds to the pain.

“So I gave it up and distanced myself from anything figure skating related,” Jensen finishes and when Jared looks at his face, he sees such a mix of emotions in there he is surprised none of them has made it into his voice. “How accurate are the rumors, then?”

Jared drops his gaze again. “Very accurate.”

“Well,” Jensen shrugs, “at least no one expects me to be an angel.”

“It’s not like that that is all people talk about,” Jared objects, “When someone mentions you, they really – they mention you as a legend, not as a – I don’t know. You’re not the villain or anything.”

“You shouldn’t say that,” Jensen protests, “You weren’t there. You don’t know.”

And Jared knows that Jensen was saying the truth when he said he still blamed himself for what happened to Alona. He might have had a part in it, but it was Alona who got into that car and drove off. The only thing bugging Jared is the fact that Jensen was able to leave Jeff behind, whatever it was that was between them – that is not a comforting thought. But what does he know, really, how someone feels when their friend of more than a decade dies in a car accident they feel responsible for?

Jared would probably run, too. 

Jared blames himself, too, although his shame is stupidly unimportant compared to what Jensen’s been through.

He feels dumb and stupid and so childish, as Jim would probably say, for not being able to come up with any words of comfort. He simply cannot. He is drowning in all the word vomit Jensen had been keeping to himself for all those years, and he doesn’t know how to get out. He doesn’t know how to offer support, or comfort.

Jensen’s wrinkles stand out in this lighting, Jared realizes, or maybe that’s just because he finally told someone.

As the silence becomes almost unbearable and Jensen is busy drinking the rest of his beer, Jared finally speaks up. 

“If anything, I’m glad Jim got you and brought you back,” he says and he is not sure what he means by this confession – it could literally mean anything from “I’m glad you’re back in the game, bro” to “I’m so glad you’re in my life and I’m sorry I was an asshole to you”. 

Jensen laughs. “That’s better than anything any therapist ever told me,” he jokes and as his lips close around the beer bottle (which should be freaking _illegal_ , considering the way it shapes those lips), his eyes are smiling.

They keep on talking for an hour or so, but it’s hard to go back to a casual conversation after what just happened. 

Serious topics keep slipping into their chat and Jared finds himself talking about his parents and how distant they are, and Jensen actually mentions Alona a few more times.

It’s almost half past eleven when they finally walk out of the bar, the cold air greeting them, enveloping them in a tight embrace.

Jared knows they are both going in opposite directions, and he doesn’t want to say goodbye. There’s literally less than eight hours until they see each other again, but he is worried that whatever connection they put together today, will lose its power overnight. He doesn’t want that.

They stand there awkwardly, neither of them saying anything, and then Jared does it.

He does the stupidest thing, the one thing that can ruin the whole evening. He knows he shouldn’t, but he cannot help it.

He leans in before his brain can stop him – no, you idiot, don’t – his lips slowly touch Jensen’s.

They meet briefly in an awkward kiss and then Jensen is pulling away, and Jared knew this would happen. He knew, but he also knew he had to risk it. Jensen’s quick step backwards is like a punch in the gut – the balloon in which Jared stored his happiness explodes and trashes everything in Jared’s insides around. He feels sick.

“I am sorry –“ Jared says quickly, his voice alarmed and his face burning up.

Jensen is looking up at him with such confusion, not anger, but endless confusion, like he doesn’t even know what to say.

“It’s okay,” he says after all, but his face gives him away completely. “It’s okay, Jay,” he says again, as if he hoped that would fix the look on his face, but it doesn’t.

His mouth might be shaping around those words, but what his face is saying is crystal clear -- _I can’t._ That is what Jared sees in his face and it is perhaps even worse than simple rejection. It makes Jared feel like the kiss is secretly wanted, but it shouldn’t be. It feels like the kiss is wanted, but the fight for it isn’t.

So Jared steps back, too. 

“I’m sorry,” he says again, too, as if repeating the same words helped the case in any way.

“Jared,” Jensen says, urgent. “Have a good night. I’ll see you tomorrow at the airport, okay?”

And he dismisses it just like that – just like he dismissed the fact Jared saw him skate before. Once again, Jared feels too small and helpless to do anything about it.

“’Kay. You too, Jensen.”

Jensen even manages a smile; a smile with those lips Jared had just briefly kissed and didn’t get enough of at all. How can he manage a smile? Jared is still on fire, practically incapable of doing anything.

His legs, however, turn out to be completely capable of moving, because without thinking about it, he turns around and starts walking to his apartment, the cold air destroying his lungs as he breathes with his mouth open, as if he didn’t want to lick Jensen away.

He can’t think about it, he decides. Not right now, maybe after the competition, maybe some other day, but not right now. 

Jared is scared his entire self would curl into a ball and not recover. After all, he did just kiss Jensen Ackles and he was met with rejection. But it was so strange, so peculiar, that instead of emptiness, it only made a mess.

Jensen’s name brought a lot of sponsors, which means being able to afford a really expensive costume to skate in. It’s ridiculous, but they cost hundreds.

Jared doesn’t feel good in black-and-white, he realizes, but then again, he wouldn’t feel good in anything right now. Even his ponytail feels weird and pretentious and just stupidly out of place. He needs a haircut.

He hates the glitter on his black pants, hates the ornaments crawling across his shirt and around his neck, hates the misty grey under his arms and he hates his black gloves. He hates everything, although according to Jensen, he should be feeling love.

Skating at Prudentials is strangely difficult.

No, not strangely, scratch that. Of course it’s difficult. It’s his first competition since his failure the year before and he is not feeling it.

He is nervous all over, as he stands in his starting position for his short program, his arms open. At least he’s not skating to Shostakovich.

His whole mind has somewhat gone AWOL, as if he wasn’t even there, for his short program. He does everything that is required, from Axels through combinations to sit spins with change of foot. 

He feels dizzy and he misses the rhythm for a few seconds. At least he doesn’t fall or stumble, although his second Axel jump is executed poorly. 

He would probably feel guilty and would stress over it even while skating, but he would have to be there at first. His mind is just not with him, he’s like an empty shell. He only hears his Hans Zimmer music in the distance, like they’re playing it in the next room.

His short program is the strangest panic attack – or a form of it, anyway – that Jared has ever experienced.

After his music has ended, he bows and waves and does everything as he is supposed to do, but he only becomes fully aware of himself when he sits down on the bench to wait for his score.

He even missed the pat on the shoulder that Jensen gave him, even his encouraging words, _and_ his smile. 

He is one of the last ones to skate, but he still feels like someone punches him in the gut when they reveal his score and he ends up being in the eleventh place.

“You’ll go up with your free skate,” Jensen reassures him.

“Yeah, he’s right,” Danneel agrees when Jared talks to her later that night, sitting on the floor in her hotel room. “You’ve got great music and a great choreography.”

_Too bad my skating isn’t that great,_ Jared thinks, but he’s grown up since last year and he won’t say this out loud. He’s not even that inclined to.

“I hope you’re right,” he says instead, “Because being stuck in eleventh place would sure suck.” He doesn’t even know what he would tell Jim – Jim, who mentioned medals like it was a sure thing.

Jared doesn’t even call him that night, and he doesn’t seek Jensen’s presence either. Not like Jensen seeks his.

The next day is spent training.

And then it’s the day when he needs to focus on his free skate and this time, he is well aware of all his mistakes. (Later on, he would hear a commentator say that his jumps were average, but his footwork was lazy and heavy, like a bear on ice. Jared would agree with them.)

Those four minutes and thirty seconds during which he skates are basically hell – although they are not nearly as bad as the last year’s were – and even Yann Tiersen’s music sounds like it’s being performed on a disgruntled piano.

Jared is not happy with how he skates. He feels that his steps and his jumps, too, were heavy. Maybe it was the burden of last year’s failure that weighed him down, maybe it was something else that pushed him towards the Earth, Jared doesn’t know. 

His smile as he leaves the ice is forced.

Jensen, however, smiles wide. “That was good,” he says as he pulls Jared into a hug.

Did hugs happen two days ago, too? Jared’s memories of that day are honestly way too fuzzy, for whatever reason.

But Jensen’s arms are warm and feel surprisingly good when wrapped around Jared’s shoulders.

Color rushes up to Jared’s cheeks when he thinks back to that awful moment when he tried to kiss him, when he remembers how Jensen quickly pulled away. He almost cringes with embarrassment, and he quickly steps back as if Jensen could read his thoughts if he’s close enough.

But whether he can or not, there’s a smile still present on his face, and it cheers Jared up, for one reason or another.

“Thanks,” he says, a little belated, and his hand lingers on Jensen’s forearm one second too long.

His score is nothing phenomenal – he’s in the ninth place, but he actually drops to tenth by the end of the session. Strangely, he is not even that sad about it. Maybe it’s because Jensen kept saying encouraging things to him as they waited for the final scores – whatever it is, at least Jared doesn’t feel like a complete failure this year.

Right after the ceremony, which he stays to watch from afar since he’s not lucky enough to be on the receiving end in this, when he walks out of the building into the fresh night air, he fishes his phone out of his hoodie and dials Jim’s number.

Jim is back at home now, with his friend Samantha always stopping by with groceries or to simply talk to him. His ribs still hurt, and so does his head sometimes, and he can’t exactly be here yet. Jared misses him.

“I thought you died, son,” Jim says instead of hello the second he picks up. “Why didn’t you call me after your short program?”

“Well,” Jared laughs into the machine, “I didn’t want to jinx my great eleventh place, of course.”

“Eleventh?” Jim muses, but he doesn’t spit it out in disappointment. “Definitely better than last year, eh?”

“Oh, it gets better,” Jared corrects him with amusement. “I actually went up to the _tenth_ place, now can you believe _that_?”

“I’m trying, but it’s truly unbelievable,” Jim exclaims.

As they both laugh, Jared can see Jensen walking out of the building. They make eye contact and Jensen smiles, raising his hand and waving in Jared’s direction as if to say goodbye. Jared desperately wants to stop him, somehow, anyhow, he doesn’t care; he just wants Jensen to stay there with him. 

He doesn’t know where the desperation is coming from, but it is there nonetheless and it makes it hard for him to raise his own hand and wave back. If he weren’t smiling already, he probably wouldn’t even manage a grin.

“Listen, Jim, I gotta go,” he says then, although that is a goddamn lie. The only thing he needs to attend to is a possible private party in Danneel’s room – and for that to happen, he would need to organize it first. 

“Sure, kid,” Jim says and Jared can almost see him nod. “Don’t get too drunk.”

“Sure I won’t,” Jared assures him, although getting drunk seems almost appealing.

He walks to his hotel, because it’s not even three blocks away. 

He runs into Danneel in the elevator. Or, rather – he is about to step off on his floor when she almost bumps into him as she wants to walk in.

Without saying a word, she hugs him. “Congrats on your tenth place, friend!” she shrieks right into his ear.

“Thanks. Congrats on your fourth.”

“You bet,” she laughs. “I wonder why I still talk to you, you loser,” she jokes, and even though he knows that’s what it is, it’s actually a quite sad truth. 

When she pulls away from the hug, Jared notices that her hair is up and that she’s wearing a green-ish tank top and shorts. He raises his eyebrows – that’s some party gear, if he gets a say. His expression must speak for itself, because she waves her hand.

“Jeremy Abbott is holding a party,” she explains, “You wanna come?”

“I think I saw enough of Jem’s smiling face today, since the bastard won again,” Jared grins. He really just craves solitude – now that he knows a private party at Danneel’s is not a thing that is happening – and attending the gold medal winner’s party doesn’t seem like the right place to go to, really.

“I tell him you say hi,” she assures him with a nod. “Listen, when are you leaving? We barely got to hang out,” she pouts.

He shrugs. “Two days, I think? I’m not sure. Call me tomorrow and if you’re not too hangover, we can figure something out.”

Danneel narrows her eyes and thinks for a second. “Well, Advil exists, Ibuprofen too, so.” She nods and then waves. “Okay, gotta go! Don’t be a downer.” She envelops him in another quick hug and then disappears in the elevator, leaving Jared alone.

He stands in the middle of the hall for a second, the noise the elevator makes penetrating his ears. He buries his hands in his pockets and looks around, at all the fake plants, at the dim light surrounding him, and he sighs. 

When he finally gets to his room and closes the door behind him, it’s difficult to move for a second – knowing that Jensen’s room is exactly below him. 

Is Jensen in there? Or is he at the party? Should Jared be thinking about this? Maybe, but he shouldn’t be thinking about the kiss. And yet, yet that is the only thing on his mind as he whines and flops down onto his bed.

Hopeless, that’s what he is.

Not even worried about his poor figure skating skills anymore – worried that the guy he likes might like him back, but doesn’t want to do anything about it anyway. Worried that the guy he likes is almost forty and more complicated than solving a Rubik’s cube. Worried that the guy he likes is just a bubble full of angst and mystery and secrets and while that is what is attractive, there is nothing beyond that. Worried that the guy he likes might just drive him crazy.

It’s few minutes past eleven when Jared gets up from his bed where he has been reading and walks over to the minibar.

After considering his options for a few seconds, he takes out the small Jack Daniels and weighs it in his hand – it’s small and not heavy at all.

It’s not your usual alcoholic beverage that you visit your friends with to give it to them as a present, but Jared decides it will do. He really doesn’t have it in him to go down to the hotel bar and ask for a normal bottle.

He is not quite sure when he decided that it was a great idea to go and visit Jensen at this time. 

It’s probably many things combined, starting with the fact that Jared knows his room number and ending with the fact that it has been impossible to get Jensen out of his mind. So he might as well go talk to him.

He takes the stairs and runs down quickly, as if trying to beat off some of his nervousness and confusion. But those twenty-two stairs, of course, don’t do it for him and he approaches Jensen’s hotel room with a knot tied tightly in his stomach. 

He knocks on the door almost wishing Jensen wouldn’t open it.

But Jensen does open it, not even half a minute after Jared has reluctantly knocked on it three times, and he looks fresh and awake as if it was the middle of the day and the sun was up.

He looks confused when he spots Jared – which is right away, because it’s not like Jared is a dwarf, come on now – and Jared feels like he’s been expecting someone else. Like he wanted to see someone else stand at his door.

Jensen’s eyes then follow the line to Jared’s hands and he raises his eyebrows when he notices the mini-bottle of Jack Daniels.

Jared panics. He feels like he shouldn’t be here and he honestly doesn’t know what he was thinking when he thought that this was a good idea. If he could turn around and just march off, that would be best, but he can’t.

“Is this bad timing?” Jared asks dumbly instead of explaining why he’s here, after they stare at each other for a few seconds.

“No,” Jensen says quickly. He steps away from the door, gesturing for Jared to come in. “No, not at all. I was just watching TV to pass the time,” he explains as Jared steps in.

He feels his palm sweat around the neck of the tiny bottle, and he feels like a boy.

He looks around – Jensen’s hotel room is the exact copy of Jared’s, to be honest, with the exception of his bed sheets being lavender instead of piss-like yellow. This is not the best hotel in the entire universe, but at least the beds didn’t creak when Jared tossed around in it the night before. He wonders, dumbly, because he is a dumb figure skater who might just love his coach, if Jensen’s bed creaks or not.

Jared takes in a deep breath and looks away, avoiding Jensen’s face.

He is horrified when he realizes he just used the word ‘love’ in his head while thinking about Jensen. He is horrified when he realizes that being in Jensen’s presence does not mean not thinking about him.

He is utterly horrified when he realizes that he’s been thinking about Jensen nonstop for the past few weeks, and Danneel’s warning from so long ago is so lost and so irrelevant he doesn’t even remember it anymore.

“I should go,” he hears himself say, and he places the Jack Daniels next to the TV. 

“No –“ Jensen says again, as if he still thought that Jared’s abrupt want to leave was him worrying about whether he is wanted here or not. As if he didn’t realize what this was all about.

But then again, it took Jared some time to realize, too.

“No, I should go,” Jared insists, but before he can escape, walk past Jensen and to the door again – run, possibly, because he just cannot be here, not now, because he’s worried he will do something crazy, he’s worried he would lose control and repeat the kiss again – he feels Jensen’s fingers wrap around his wrist.

Jared feels like this is what people addicted to something, anything, must feel like when they have access to the thing they adore, but cannot quite reach it.

What does this all mean? Jared wants to ask. Why won’t you let me go? He wants to ask then. 

But he doesn’t, because he is still a kid. Confused, unprepared, not fully knowing what he’s gotten himself into. But judging by the expression on Jensen’s face, they are once again equal, their age difference completely overshadowed by their emotions. 

Jensen steps closer and with his fingers still gripping Jared’s wrist, his thumb pressed against his pulse, he kisses Jared.

It’s not even as unexpected as it could be, not in the least.

Jared breathes out as if he had been expecting this and looking forward to it, and his whole body relaxes, and he leans closer, bowing his head so he can finally taste Jensen’s lips.

His mind is just about as empty as it was two days ago when he skated – except this time, it’s Jensen’s face floating in front of his face. It takes him a second to realize he never closed his eyes – so he does, and he breathes out again, and he feels complete.

Funnily enough, Jensen tastes like Jack Daniels. He must have had the contents of his own little bottle earlier – or at least some of it.

Jared perhaps spends way too much time just thinking about that – about the facts, about how Jensen’s mouth and lips taste, about how his tongue feels pressing against his. It takes him an awkwardly long time to relax and start responding correctly.

He goes almost limp in Jensen’s hands, leaning on him despite being the taller one.

Jensen takes him on and holds him, holds him with everything he’s got, and he kisses him.

Most of Jared’s frozenness comes from surprise, but he’s too dumbfounded to realize.

After a while, he is finally able to reciprocate the kiss; it starts with a whine he breathes into Jensen’s mouth, and with his lips finally moving, trying to find the right spot in which to lock into Jensen’s.

It happens soon enough, and the entirety of Jared’s being is completely lost in the warmth of Jensen’s mouth. He feels Jensen’s demanding tongue forcing its way into Jared’s mouth, and he lets it happen. He lets it all happen. He lets Jensen push him against the hotel wall, he lets him place his hands on his hips. Jared lets his own hands rest on Jensen’s shoulders.

His breathing quickens in a matter of seconds, and when, after a while, Jensen pushes his knee between Jared’s thighs, his body responses immediately.

Jared can feel Jensen’s stubble against his chin, can feel the burn of it, can imagine the pink color his skin must have taken on.

He feels the closeness of Jensen’s body to his, feels it enveloping him, and he feels so, so small in Jensen’s experienced hands.

It feels like Jensen knows exactly what he’s doing – like he understands the impact of every touch that lands on Jared’s skin. It’s probably true, too – because Jared is out of breath, he needs oxygen, but he would trade his life for one more second of this.

It’s Jensen who breaks the kiss, finally, leaving Jared’s lips swollen and used and burning from Jensen’s stubble.

Jensen cups Jared’s cheek in one hand, his thumb caressing it. His eyes say it all, really, when they look at each other. (They have looked at each other so many times, yet this is completely different.)

Yes, Jared can see. 

_This is exactly what I didn’t want to happen_ , Jensen’s eyes say, and while it’s not nice, at least he’s not saying it out loud. At least there’s that, and Jared is entirely thankful.

Jensen’s expression changes quickly, the former one replaced by a confused one.

“Jay –“ he says, now familiar with the nickname, and he shakes his head slightly. 

“I know,” Jared mumbles, “I’m young and you’re my coach and we shouldn’t. I don’t give a fuck, though.”

It’s much less romantic than _Please give me what I’ve been dreaming about for months_ , even though that’s originally what Jared has in mind.

Jensen looks conflicted for one more second before he sighs. A small grin appears on his face and his shoulders go down, no longer tense. It’s unbelievable, ridiculous to think that those words were what Jensen needed, but it seems to be that way.

Jensen’s fingers trail down Jared’s neck. “I don’t give a fuck,” he repeats after Jared, but they both know it’s not just repeating it – it’s expressing his own feelings, too.

Jared gulps. “Good.”

Jensen lips – still curved into a smirk – chase Jared’s again, but it all weighs on Jared suddenly – this is about to happen. They won’t stop at kissing. They will go all the way – he sees that in the hunger in Jensen’s eyes. They will go all the way and Jared shivers when the realization hits him.

He moves his head so Jensen’s lips meet the skin of his cheekbone. “I just need to go to the bathroom,” he breathes out quickly.

He slips out of Jensen’s hands quickly, and heads for the bathroom, once again thankful that this room is a copy of his own.

Once he’s there, he closes the door behind him and turns on the water; keeps it running. He might as well pee, he thinks, and so he does that, too, but then he stands in front of the mirror, imitating every chick flick he can think of.

He notices contacts lying there on the sink, and is surprised – he had no idea Jensen needed glasses or contacts. Sure enough, glasses with a black thin frame lie next to the contacts, and Jared picks them up idly, putting them on. He can’t see shit. Jensen’s eyes are not all that good.

He takes the glasses off and places them where they belong, sighing. 

Jensen is still partly a stranger. A stranger Jared wants to crawl into bed with. 

Is that wrong or is that right?

Does the answer really mean all that much when he _wants_?

No, in fact, it does not matter at all. Jared could decide that this is wrong, but he would still walk out of here and right into Jensen’s arms, with heavy head and doubts, but he would do it nevertheless, and he would love every second of it. He would simply consider it a sin, against himself, against whatever. 

Or he could decide that this is right; and he could walk out and take Jensen in his arms, and let him cover his body as they lie down in the hotel bed.

Either way, they will end up there, with Jared’s legs wrapped around Jensen’s hips, toes curled. The decision remains the same.

Jared breathes out. And then he walks out, with goosebumps covering his body.

Jensen is sitting on the bed, looking like he is a teenager that is just about to get laid for the very first time. It makes Jared smile – it makes him more confident.

However, the second Jared sits down next to him and seals their mouths, it turns into a scene from a porn movie. 

They are both okay with – they don’t fight it. 

This kiss is different. Jensen quickly murmurs, “Is everything alright?” into Jared’s mouth, but it goes unanswered. Jared doesn’t really know what he would say to that, other than, _yes, now it is, now everything is alright_. And that would make him even more pathetic.

They don’t talk then, it isn’t necessary. They are touches and the little sounds they make in the back of their throats when the pleasure becomes too much and is unbearable, and they must share with one another.

Jared’s now got beard-burn all over his body, and he wishes he could tell Jensen how good it feels, how good the sting is, how much he never wants it to disappear. He wishes he could express everything he’s feeling, but the possibility that it might lose its magic after that is too overwhelming, and keeps his mouth shut.

His grabby fingers and the thrusts of his hips must be enough, though, because Jensen smiles against Jared’s skin.

They are both naked, the lavender bed sheets crumpled beneath them.

They roll around and kiss for long minutes, and Jared figures Jensen out; he sees the freckles on Jensen’s back, one right next to the other. He doesn’t know whether they are freckles that have always been there, or whether they are those old-age-freckles, but he doesn’t care. He figures out the freckles on Jensen’s shoulders and as he drags his tongue down Jensen’s chest, circling his nipples, devouring him, he _knows_.

He hears it in Jensen’s sobbed moans, in his strong hands grabbing at Jared’s shoulders, tangled in Jared’s hair, crawling down Jared’s back.

He groans when they change positions and Jensen’s fingers are suddenly running up Jared’s thighs – fingernails digging into the skin there, scratching and tempting.

Jared’s legs are wide apart, needy and desperate, _fuck me_ , Jared says and those are the only words uttered in those moments, and they are an abomination of what this whole thing is about.

Jensen obeys, though, letting Jared have his way. They both know he is the one in charge here anyway.

His fingers are soon buried deep in Jared, opening him up and bothering him in the best way possible – Jared sighs and moans and fucks himself on those fingers when Jensen hits his prostate repeatedly.

Jared hits a new low when he tells Jensen in a small voice that he won’t last much longer and he wants, wants – wants to come with Jensen’s cock in him, please.

And Jensen obeys again, fishing out a condom and handing it to Jared. 

All Jared wants for a second is close his mouth around Jensen’s dick, but then he remembers what he’s here for.

Jensen’s moans and groans are still sobbed out, but now he’s rocking his hips, coming in and out in a slow pace.

He is hovering over Jared, taking him, and it’s so slow, but not lazy – Jared knows Jensen is trying to prolong this, trying to keep Jared on the edge for as long as possible. He hates him for it and he loves him for it, oh, loves him so much.

His toes are now indeed curled, his legs are indeed wrapped around his hips, and his ankles are locked; Jensen is not going anywhere, Jared will not let him.

They rock together, they _fuck_ but it does not feel like fucking – Jared doesn’t think he has ever been this close to someone. Their bodies are pressed against each other and the old bed creaks beneath them, and Jared smiles at that – smiles into Jensen’s lips pressed against his in yet another kiss.

But nothing can go on forever – Jensen’s grip on Jared’s shoulders becomes too tight and Jared’s fingers leave red marks on Jensen’s back.

“I’m gonna – “ Jensen says in a raspy, spent voice, and that’s as far as he gets – he is coming seconds later and Jared wishes there wasn’t that awful piece of plastic separating them. He wishes he could feel Jensen’s come inside him, wishes he could watch it run down his thighs. Or better yet, have Jensen’s fingers pushing it back for hours and hours.

Jared comes soon enough, with Jensen’s dick still buried deep inside him, the tip of it brushing against his prostate constantly, making it impossible to hold on to sanity.

It’s not blackness and void that overcomes him when his orgasm hits him; it’s a milliong thoughts rushing through his head, starting with _this is the best thing that has ever happened to me_ , continuing with, _I can’t_ and _I’m so empty now_ , ending at _I want to go again_.

Jensen pulls out then, and Jared – even though everything around him is a little bit hazy and his heart is beating like crazy in his chest, all his limbs weak from the orgasm – watches Jensen toss the used condom across the room. They are perhaps both too tired to care.

When they kiss, lying opposite each other, chest to chest, Jared realizes Jensen no longer tastes like Jack Daniels or any other kind of whiskey.

He wonders how many tastes there are to Jensen – wonders how long it will take him to know and understand them all.

They end up in a spoon, with Jensen’s chest pressed against Jared’s back, drying sweat gluing them together. Jensen’s hand is loosely resting against Jared’s belly, and his head is heavy against his shoulder.

Jared blushes, happy and content almost like a cat. And then he falls asleep.

When Jared wakes up, he wakes up to the smell of Jensen’s sheets. They might be lavender but they smell like the worst soap man has ever invented.

He buries his nose in the pillow anyway, because he remembers that he didn’t notice that smell last night at all and the sole memory of that makes him both smile and blush at the same time. It’s a happy blush, and he’s almost not ashamed of it.

He reaches out with his hand, expecting to find Jensen’s body there.

The space is empty and cold, suggesting that it has been empty for quite some time now.

Jared involuntarily opens his eyes. Yes, he is alone in the bed. His eyes focus on the nightstand watch and he sees it’s a few minutes past nine in the morning. He hums tiredly, sleep still in his system, and for a second, he closes his eyes again. He wants to _sleep_ , thank you very much.

But something is wrong and a very little part of his brain understands it. It’s almost too small to alarm the rest of his brain, but it happens nonetheless and suddenly, Jared is wide awake.

He holds himself up on his hands and looks around the room. It looks hollow and empty, but then again, of course it does – it’s a hotel room. But still, something feels wrong. And when Jared realizes that it’s also utterly quiet, he knows. He knows Jensen is not in the room. He knows the room is so empty because Jensen’s suitcase isn’t lying on the floor anymore and his clothes aren’t everywhere. He knows.

But still, he gets up from the bed and barefeet – and naked, too – he walks across the room. 

He cautiously opens the bathroom door, as if he was expecting to see Jensen taking a shower. But that’s not possible, because it’s too quiet.

Of course the bathroom is empty. 

Jensen’s glasses, just like his contacts, are gone. The surprise of finding them there the night before wears off as well.

Jared feels as if his heart stopped beating, and it’s very familiar to that one time when his heart stopped beating after he fell on his ass and fucked up his whole performance. It feels the same, except this time, he has time to absorb it and he doesn’t need to keep skating. He can just as well fall onto his ass again.

For some reason, Jared checks the trashcan, not even sure why. There are used contacts, one Kleenex and the used condom. Jared cringes and a shiver runs through his body. 

He wonders whether Jensen used that Kleenex because he cried, or because he didn’t want to dry his hands with the hotel towel, or because he sneezed and needed something to block out the sound. Because, what if Jared woke up while he was sneaking around, packing his things and disappearing? What would happen then?

Jared doesn’t know if he’d had the power to stop Jensen from leaving, even if he were awake.

Waking up to en empty hotel room, though, feels worse than any fuck up Jared had to deal with.

He _doesn’t_ know. He doesn’t know if this is his mistake, or if it’s Jensen’s, he simply doesn’t know. If he almost closes his eyes, seeing only from the corners of them, he can almost see Jensen’s silhouette move around the room in a desperate hurry.

And he wants to stop that silhouette, wants to walk up to it, wants to walk up to _Jensen_ and ask – instead of begging him to stay – Why? What was so wrong? Why do you suppose I will understand?

Unless Jared isn’t supposed to understand.

For a brief second there, Jared falls and believes that Jensen actually just went for breakfast. Despite none of his things being there, Jared seriously believes this for one second, two, three… thirty.

Then he shakes it off.

Stupid. Jared is a stupid kid and Jensen is a stupid thirty-something old man. They are both so stupid, and Jared hates them both.

He doesn’t know where it comes from, but he finds it in him to get dressed. When he does that, he leaves the room without looking back, imagining this is probably how Jensen walked out of here, too. 

He takes the stairs again, but he is lifeless. He feels like that.

He is also in love. And the only thing he can be grateful for is that he wasn’t stupid enough to say those words to Jensen. Because if he did, things would be even worse. This way, he can keep the secret to himself.

When he gets to his room, he goes on with his morning – even brushes his teeth, ignoring the bruises sucked onto his skin being harder a task than any other – before he collapses on his bed. His piss-like yellow bed sheets smell just as bad as Jensen’s, and that’s when the first tear falls. 

He can’t fight them back; he doesn’t want to.

When Jared’s phone rings sometime around noon, he is still in bed. He is no longer crying, of course, but he’s not in the best mood either.

The very first thing he wants to do then is simply not pick up.

But then he thinks it might be Jensen – which is as stupid as it gets, really, because why would a person run away and then call the one they left behind?. Or it might be Danneel, and, well, Jared doesn’t want to talk to her. Because he would end up telling her what happened and even though she would offer nothing but encouragement, he knows that behind every gentle word would be a silent, ‘I warned you’. Jared doesn’t want to listen to that.

He picks up his phone anyway and checks the screen. He is only mildly surprised to see it’s Jim calling – the biggest surprise left him immune to everything else that might happen.

An internal battle goes on for a few seconds – he doesn’t want to block out Jim, but on the other hand, he doesn’t want to talk to him. There’s honestly nothing to say.

He ends up picking up, his thumb almost sub-consciously pressing down on the answer button. He regrets it immediately and rolls his eyes at himself.

“Yeah?” he says to the phone, his voice raspy; he’s not sure if that’s from crying, not talking much or moaning into the early hours of the morning.

Jim’s voice sounds somewhat sad. “I just had a very long talk with Jensen,” he says and Jared’s insides hurt just at the mention of that name.

That’s funny, Jared wants to say, because he sure left without saying a word that morning. For a moment, just like back then when he wanted to believe in Jensen grabbing himself breakfast, he believes that this is a misunderstanding and Jensen means to come back. Better yet; that he never meant to leave. But that’s a brief moment, too brief for Jared’s liking, and then he’s back in reality.

Jared exhales. He doesn’t – he doesn’t have it in him to ask what this talk was about – Jim’s voice sounds tired enough for quick assumptions. 

Jim is silent for a second, though, obviously waiting for encouragement. Only when he doesn’t get it does he continue.

“He told me he doesn’t want to coach you anymore,” Jim says and Jared’s heart sinks.

Of course, he should have thought of this. This is logical, after all, but still – it hurts almost as bad as waking up to an empty fucking room. Jared closes his eyes, feeling the burn from crying earlier on.

“Oh,” is all Jared manages.

“He simply told me he wants to quit because he can’t do it,” Jim keeps going and every word feels like a little pin penetrating Jared’s skin – if you hurt yourself with one, it doesn’t particularly hurt, but once they’re all over your body, your entire being is on fire. “After I failed to convince him to stay – he seriously just kept sayin’ he wants to quit and that’s it – he told me to tell you that he’s sorry but he can’t. What’s that all about? Aren’t you both in Boston?”

Jared takes a deep breath. He already knows how awful it will feel to say those words out loud, and he truly doesn’t want to.

“He –“ he trips over his own tongue, “He left early this morning and he – he didn’t say much.”

“Jay,” Jim presses, “What happened? Did you disagree on something major?”

Jared laughs, the sound alien in his throat. Oh, they kept on agreeing for quite some time there, that was probably the biggest problem. He doesn’t dare to say that to Jim, though – it would mean revealing things, it would mean opening up. It would mean letting all of it out, but also letting all the pain in – because he’s been keeping a major part of it at bay, not letting it get him.

“No, Jim,” says Jared simply, with a sigh. He rubs his face.

“What kinda person leaves in the middle of the season?” Jim say, irritated, his voice noticeably louder. “Professional, my ass.”

“I’m sure he had his reasons, Jim-Jim,” he says quickly because the urge to stand up for Jensen and protect him from all kinds of bad mouthing is stronger than him. Also – it’s nice to believe at least that, if not understand it. He doesn’t even realize he uses Jim’s old nickname from when Jared was a kid until Jim says ‘oh, boy’ in _that_ voice – the one that means he knows something is up.

“Jared, for real,” he says impatiently, “if something happened, you need to tell me. What is it?”

It’s the concern in Jim’s voice that does it. Knowing that Jim is fully busy being in pain, whether it’s from his ribs or his head or something else, and yet he still cares so much, that’s what does it. It is the opposite of what Jensen showed him this morning – it is love and caring and being there. Jensen failed in all of those things, and Jared hates to think that, but what if that’s his fault, too? It’s never only on one head. 

He spills his guts then, and Jim listens to him through all of it.

Jared is thankful that for once, Jim’s words aren’t harsh and they don’t carry advice – at least not at first. They are as gentle as Danneel’s would be, but they don’t carry a second meaning. They don’t even tell him that he was stupid if he thought this could ever work out – they never hint at the surrealism of the whole situation.

Jim never hints at any of those things, just listens and then quietly explains to Jared that this is not the end of the world and that he is surrounded by people who love them, and whom he loves.

“Go talk to Danneel,” Jim tells him and it almost sounds like an order. “You need someone close to you. You probably need a hug. Tequila, maybe?”

“I thought you told me not to get drunk,” Jared reminds him with a slight grin playing on his face. 

“What a man’s gotta do, a man’s gotta do,” Jim comments dryly.

They talk for a few more moments, but there’s nothing else to say – anything that has to do with Jared’s skating will be settled after he’s back in Detroit and neither of them wants to go back to discussing Jensen and what he did.

Jared feels empty yet better when he hangs up.

Before he dials Danneel’s number – he already knows his favorite lady will be hangover and grumpy – he lies back in his bed. He is sure about two things only, and everything else is a painful mystery – much like Jensen used to be.

One, he needs to dust his treadmill or find another neighborhood to run in.

Two, even if everything else fails, like it just did, he’s still got one thing he can count on, and that’s not people – those are too unstable and Jared is too hurt. He’s got his skates, and those will never betray him, as long as he treats them with respect.


	6. Epilogue

Jared’s head is up, his right hand reaching out.

He feels like his fingertips are on fire – feels like he’s burning up. Nervousness tickles him, rushing through his veins alongside blood, and he is very well aware of that. But he doesn’t mind. He accepts it.

Instead of counting down in his head – five, four, three, two, one, _skate, now_ \-- he waits somewhat patiently. It’s Jensen’s voice he hears in his head this time, not Jim’s, although it’s Jim again who’s waiting for him on the bench, Jim who told him he’ll be crossing his fingers and toes. 

For many reasons, it’s Jensen’s voice that resonates through his mind before the music starts.

_Respect ice, it will treat you as a partner,_ Jensen told him once, almost two years ago. Jared remembers, and he has nothing but respect in him at this very moment.

It’s Mahler he’s skating to this season, and he’s in love with the music.

It starts off slow and gives Jared enough space to get accustomed to everything, be it the rink or hundreds of eyes watching him. He takes special care so as to feel everything and let the music flow through him, and let his brain do the work.

His brain does the work splendidly well.

It’s his short program, and he’s careful – too careful, maybe, but he’d rather not risk anything. It pays off – his Axels are proper and his footwork is no longer “lazy” nor “heavy”. His final spin leaves him dizzy – he feels a bit nauseous after the last note of music carries off into nothing, but he knows it’s all thanks to the fact that he skated _well_.

He waves and smiles and even laughs to himself, his breathing quick and uneven, cheeks red.

Jared feels something resembling exhaustion as he skates the few feet back to Jim, and the second he is behind the barrier, he is enveloped in a warm hug.

“I’m so proud of you,” Jim says as he pats Jared’s back, his smile genuine and huge. He hands Jared his hoodie, but before he takes it, he pulls Jim into another hug.

“Thank you so much, Jim,” he says as he exhales.

“C’mon, let’s sit down.”

Jared nods and lets Jim lead him to the bench, his gut now squeezed.

They are still showing his short program, bits of it, and he somehow experiences hard secondhand embarrassment for his past self. He doesn’t like looking at himself.

“Your score will be great,” Jim assures him, but Jared is no longer so sure. He’s too critical, he knows, but he still feels he could have done better.

The score proves him wrong, though (and proves Jim right) – it’s high, higher than he ever got, immediately setting a new record for him. 

Jared is astonished, can’t believe his eyes for a second – the table says he is now in the third place, which is – it’s _unbelievable_. He knows it will go down, after all, it’s freaking _Olympics_ , not Prudentials, but still. Still, he can feel his guts exploding and he’s so lost and surprised that the real world is almost unimportant. He’s not sure if he smiles, not sure if he returns another hug Jim gives him, he just know that this has to be fucking unreal. This is not possible.

Another skater is out on the rink when he finally recollects himself – sure enough, it’s Danneel punching him in the shoulder that wakes him up from his daze.

“You goofball,” she says, and she’s so happy it almost makes Jared tear up. What is going _on_.

He smiles, big and wide, and pulls her into a hug, wrapping his arms around her tiny self. “Thanks, Dee,” he says into her hair.

“I’m so happy for you,” she yells into his shoulder, and then pulls away. “My Axels are still better, though.”

Jared laughs. “Sure they are.”

They chat for a while, and by the time Danneel says she needs to go (another training before her big day in a few days), Jared has dropped to the fifth place with his score. But still, man – pretty surreal.

Jared finds Jim talking to some Ukrainian coach with a funny accent, and interrupts their conversation only to say that he’s off to his room to rest before tomorrow. Jim nods, and Jared’s memory doesn’t fail him when he remembers the name of the Ukrainian skater and tells the coach that he says good luck.

He’s still in the building, people talking and loud music still in reach, when it happens.

He runs into him, eyes on his phone as he’s updating his Twitter. He murmurs a quick ‘sorry’ and keeps on walking, but then there’s the voice, and Jared is dumb enough to not recognize it at first.

“Hey, Jared,” the voice says and Jared idly looks up and turns around; probably another skater.

But it’s not another skater. 

It’s Jensen Ackles, and, of course it is. Of course it is Jensen.

He still looks the same – the same stubble, the same green eyes, and Jared bets he still looks the same underneath his clothes, too – he gasps when he stupidly remembers the freckles on his back and hipbones, and he hates himself for thinking about _that_ right now.

“Hello,” he says dumbly.

“I saw you skate,” Jensen says as if nothing ever happened between them, as if Jensen didn’t leave him without saying a word after sleeping with him. “You were great.” His tone is so conversational, like they’re two old friends talking about the weather, like there’s nothing more.

Jared is surprised to realize he doesn’t mind all that much.

Although… There _is_ more, Jared knows. His love for Jensen, however stupid that is, is still there. A companion, a part of him – he’s used to not paying attention to it, and that’s why it’s so easy to stand here and look Jensen in the eye, even with his gut squeezed.

“Thanks,” Jared says politely. “What are you doing here?” he asks, because he knows he couldn’t walk down the hall and out of the building without knowing.

“I –“ Jensen starts, but then trails off. His eyes drop down to the floor in what almost looks like shame. “I coach, Madeline Avery, she’s seventeen.”

“Oh,” Jared nods, hopeful that his disappointment doesn’t show. On the other hand, he’s also relieved – for a second, he worried Jensen was coaching another male skater, replacing Jared. This is better, although it still hurts. “I hear she’s a real talent.”

Jensen smiles proudly. “She is. Less stubborn than you were,” Jensen adds, but seems to regret it the second it’s out of his mouth. “Listen, Jay –“

But Jared cannot do the nickname. He can do simple, polite conversation, but he cannot hear Jensen say that nickname. 

His back straightens and he, almost reflexively, takes a step backward. “I gotta go, Jensen. Big day tomorrow,” he says quickly, one word rushing out after the other as if trying to jump over each other in hurry.

Jensen nods – doesn’t seem to be surprised by Jared’s abrupt escape. “Sure. Good luck tomorrow, Jared,” he says with yet another nod, but doesn’t move from his spot.

“Thanks. Good luck to Madeline, too,” he mumbles, and it’s surprisingly hard to turn on his heels and actually start walking again. It is so difficult, especially when he knows Jensen’s eyes are still following him, never leaving his back.

He shivers.

It’s way past midnight and Jared should have been asleep for at least three hours now, but he’s really doing the opposite.

Well, his mind is. It’s wide awake and he doesn’t think that is going to change any time soon.

He’s sprawled across his bed, not even able to find a comfortable enough position, a book in his hands. It’s _Game of Thrones_ , and Jared can’t focus; the names on pages keep escaping his mind and the writing is just too complicated right now.

But maybe that’s because his mind is actually somewhere else.

He would expect it to be fixed on the events of tomorrow, going over his choreography for his free program, because that needs to be perfect to remain in the sixth place to which he dropped to, or to get even better.

But, no. No, his mind is as far from figure skating as it could possibly be. 

As his eyes skim the pages in front of him, skipping the names, Jensen is the only thing Jared’s mind is focused on. Sadly.

Jared can almost feel his presence, somewhere in the hotel, even though who knows, he might be someplace else. He was so surprised to see him here – something utterly unexpected, but he likes to think they handled the situation as well as they could.

Jared can’t let go, though. The image of Jensen’s face -- how little it has changed, if at all, and how he looked at Jared with such fondness – keeps floating in front of his eyes and he can’t help it.

He, very well at that, remembers how surprising and quiet his falling in love with Jensen was. He remembers it like it was yesterday, although it was over two years ago, through their runs and conversations and over bottles of beer and half-kisses. All his memories come rushing back to him, and he does a poor job at fighting them away.

His chest is somewhat hurting, although he knows he’s not angry at Jensen, not anymore. He almost feels like he understands the reasons he had for leaving, but even if he doesn’t – the fact that he’s not angry is good enough. His feelings are mixed, that is true, but the two emotions that stand above the others are clear. The first one is more of a realization – he’s missed Jensen. But the second one, oh, the longing. Pure and painful and Jared doesn’t know what to do with it.

He finally closes the book and leaves it lying on the bed next to him. He rolls over so he’s on his back, and he rubs his face tiredly. 

He needs sleep. that’s what he needs. 

As if on cue, just as he’s above to reach for his iPod and play some stupid soft music, there’s a knock at his door.

Jared frowns to himself – it could be Danneel, it could be Jim. And it could be Jensen. He wants it to be Jensen.

That’s what makes Jared actually get up from the bed and cross the whole suite to the door. 

He opens it with a small heart beating fast in his chest, but even at its small form, it almost explodes when he sees Jensen standing there.

For a second, they just stand there, as if neither of them could understand the situation.

“What are you doing here?” Jared breathes out after a few seconds, asking the same question for the second time that day. 

Jensen’s eyes are still down on his shoes, as if he never looked up ever since they talked in the afternoon. But Jared knows he did – he felt his eyes on him, and he is sure, he would not be wrong about that. He still recognizes the feeling when Jensen’s eyes are on him.

“I really wanted to talk,” Jensen answers and his breath smells of whiskey. He doesn’t seem to be drunk, through – probably just had a glass down in the hotel bar. “But I also sort of hoped you were asleep and wouldn’t open the door.”

“Well,” Jared comments, “I could still close it and pretend you were never here.”

“Don’t,” Jensen pleads as he looks up, apologetic, his stare burning right through Jared. 

“Okay,” Jared nods and steps away from the door, suggesting that Jensen might walk in.

When he does and when Jared closes the door behind him, they stand in the hallway awkwardly, only a few feet parting them. 

They haven’t properly talked in two years. _Two years_ , and now Jensen’s here, and Jared doesn’t know what to say – knows that it is not his place to say anything.

“I’m so sorry I left,” Jensen says then, quiet, but it still sounds like a plead. What is he begging for, anyway? Forgiving? A second chance? “I was –“

“I know,” Jared cuts him off. There were times when he wanted to hear Jensen say it, there were times where he would be able to hold Jensen down until he admitted it, but he doesn’t need it down. After all, it doesn’t really need saying – it’s still written all over Jensen’s face, like a scar. “You were scared. Because of what happened with Alona and Jeff.” In his head, this is nothing more than a guess, but his voice is calm and steady as he says it out loud.

He almost expects Jensen to deny it and offer a different apology, a different reason. But he doesn’t.

Actually, he seems relieved that Jared was the one to say it. “Yes. So scared, Jared…” he trails off and then he finally looks up.

Jared’s breathing is frantic. His thoughts are racing. 

He wants to say something deep, something meaningful, something that would tell Jensen that it’s okay now. That he is forgiven, has been for such a long time. 

“I missed you,” he says instead, possibly the dumbest response he could have come up with, but there it is. “But I don’t blame you.”

Jensen breathes out and steps back, leaning against the wall, right next to Jared’s coat, right next to his duffel bag with his skates. “I’m so sorry,” he says again, and it’s all in his voice, his sincerity and hope, and Jared loves him.

He knows that if Jensen never left, life probably wouldn’t find him at the Olympics. He worked hard after Jensen had left, to take his mind off other things, and he fell even more in love with the ice. And he learned to respect it. Jared fears, for some reason, that if Jensen had stayed, he wouldn’t have found the courage to keep going – he would be satisfied with a man by his side.

This is better. This is satisfying, and he’s happy, he enjoys what he does.

He nods to himself in some kind of reaffirmation - _yes, this is really happening_ \-- before he takes a step and finally burns the distance between them. 

He takes Jensen by surprise when he leans in and simply presses his lips against his, grabbing the front of his black shirt, feeling it scrunched beneath his fingers.

Jensen freezes, and for a second, Jared is terrified that he has misread the situation – perhaps Jensen came to apologize and that’s it, that’s all he wanted to clear his conscience. Maybe it’s not like that at all – maybe this just proves Jared isn’t all that grown-up after all, maybe he’s still stuck in his twenty-two year old self.

But then Jensen responds.

His lips start moving against Jared’s, ever so slowly, and Jared breathes out. 

Soon enough, he’s got Jensen pressed against the wall, his tongue playfully slipping into Jensen’s mouth, ignoring the salt that slipped out of Jensen’s eyes and lingered on his lips.

He can feel Jensen melting underneath his fingertips.

They finally understand each other.

When Jared finishes his free skate the next day, he does so with a smile. It wasn’t better than his short program – it might have been a bit worse. But he jumped every jump, he spun like he was supposed to, he circled the rink for the right amount of time.

His scores may not be the best. He might drop to the seventh, or eighth place. 

But still, after waving and smiling at people cheering and screaming his name, people waving the US flag, he does something he’s never done before, but saw other people do.

He kisses his fingertips and then drops down to one knee. He presses his fingers against the ice.

Thanks to it, he’s now got everything. 

And he knows that Jensen, watching him by Jim’s side, understands what exactly this gesture means.

THE END.


End file.
